


for the glory of love

by savorvrymoment



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky's Gorgeous Dick, Glory Hole, M/M, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Dysfunction, Strangers to Lovers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savorvrymoment/pseuds/savorvrymoment
Summary: Steve knows he has a million and one problems.  Trust issues, intimacy issues, commitment issues.  It’s been this way ever since he came home from Afghanistan.  He hates people on principle, yet worries about the sad and lonely-looking strangers he passes on the street.  The mere thought of a relationship scares him, yet he desperately craves human companionship.  He shies away from a friendly hug or pat on the shoulder, yet sucks cock on weekend afternoons till he comes in his pants...





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> To give credit where credit is due: this fic is very much inspired by redhook's [Say it louder for the people in the back.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388714/chapters/38360180) If you haven't read it already, you really should. It is absolutely wonderful!

Steve hasn’t heard from Natasha in over a year when he gets the text…

_You still run that little side hustle? – Nat_

Steve frowns down at his phone, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow.  He’s at work laying cement, and so he pulls his work gloves off to reply. 

**_Yeah… Y? – Steve_ **

_Got a guy who’s interested – Nat_

Steve’s frown deepens.

**_I dunno, not taking anyone new – Steve_ **

_He’s real sweet and sexy.  He’ll be no trouble – Nat_

Steve rolls his eyes.

**_Sweet and sexy doesnt matter.  Dont see them not a lotta talking – Steve_ **

_He’s respectful – Nat_

**_Doesnt matter – Steve_ **

_He’s clean – Nat_

**_U know that 4 fact? – Steve_ **

_Yeah, I do.  I went with him to the doc after his last breakup – Nat_

**_TMI – Steve_ **

_You asked_ _🙄 – Nat_

Steve can’t believe himself, and he’s trying to talk himself out of it…  But he’s actually considering it at this point.  It’s not as though he needs any more clients—in fact, he could drop the ‘side hustle’ at any time if he chose to.  He makes plenty of money at his construction job to cover his living expenses and then some. 

But the thing is: he doesn’t go down for the money, he _likes_ it. 

He knows he has a million and one problems.  Trust issues, intimacy issues, commitment issues.  It’s been this way ever since he came home from Afghanistan.  He hates people on principle, yet worries about the sad and lonely-looking strangers he passes on the street.  The mere thought of a relationship scares him, yet he desperately craves human companionship.  He shies away from a friendly hug or pat on the shoulder, yet sucks cock on weekend afternoons till he comes in his pants.

So yeah, one more dick that’s apparently guaranteed clean; why the hell not?

And then Natasha texts again…

 _Guy’s been having a tough time lately.  Could really use the stress relief_ _– Nat_

 _You’d been doing him a real favor, trust me.  Aside from the obvious_ _🍆 – Nat_

Steve chuckles and gets an odd look from a coworker.  He realizes he’s been standing for a good five minutes not working and just texting.  So he quickly texts Natasha back before pocketing his phone.

**_Give him my number. And tell him I only do weekends – Steve_ **

_TY!  I will.  And I’ll remind him to tip for good service_ _😜 - Nat_

~*~

It’s a few days before Steve hears from an unknown number.

_Hi.  Nat gave me your number - Unknown_

Steve’s just finished his after-work shower and collapsed onto the couch with a microwaved dinner.  He glances at the text, and realizes that it must be the new guy.  So he replies.

**_Hey.  Figured Id hear from u soon – Steve_ **

**_Nat said u were clean? – Steve_ **

It’s a long time before Steve hears back.  He almost assumes the guy’s changed his mind.  Maybe lost his nerve.  He knows some men can find this shameful or taboo.  Hell, _Steve_ feels that way about it; except he actually gets off on the secret, forbidden part of the whole thing.

But then…

_Yeah.  Got tested after my partner left me, been three years ago.  Haven’t been with anyone else since – Unknown_

Steve almost texts back, _too much info, I don’t need to know that!_   Except his stupid, bleeding heart starts caring about this fucking stranger—which is why he didn’t want to know in the first place.

**_Well dont worry sweetheart.  Ill take good care of u_ _😈 – Steve_**

_Lol – Unknown_

_Nat said you work weekends? – Unknown_

**_Not work but yeah.  Only on weekend afternoons – Steve_ **

There’s another really long pause.  Steve waits for a bit, turning on the TV and taking a few bites of his dinner before it goes cold, then offers…

**_Got a 4 open this Sat.  1 and 5 on Sun – Steve_ **

The other man texts back almost immediately.

_Can I do the 5 on Sun? – Unknown_

Steve smiles. 

**_Sure thing.  Cant wait – Steve_ **

The other man doesn’t reply, but Steve enters him into the schedule on his phone anyway.  Then, he saves the man’s phone number as ‘New Guy’.

~*~

It turns out Nat was 100% right. 

New Guy is super sweet.  Mannerisms are something Steve usually doesn’t notice with the men that come to him—or as he realizes now, he’s never had a _chance_ to notice.  Most of the men who come to him let themselves in, pull themselves out, and shove themselves through the hole.  If they talk, it’s all dirty words in one form or another, either honied or degrading.  And once they come, they tuck themselves away with barely a muttered _goodbye_ before leaving him a few bills and disappearing out the door.

New Guy, though…  New Guy rings the doorbell instead of just letting himself inside.  And he apparently can’t hear Steve calling from where Steve is behind the gloryhole.  So Steve ends up having to text him, telling him the door is unlocked and to just come in. 

Steve has a large piece of plywood he absconded from work that he sets up across the door to his home office.  He cut the hole in it himself and smoothed the edges, plenty big enough for a thick cock and heavy balls to fit through.  It’s also plenty big enough for Steve to peep through and catch a glimpse of the men’s faces, but Steve never has.  He’s always made it a habit not to.

The temptation is strong, though, when New Guy steps into view.  He’s fidgeting, hips moving back and forth, obviously nervous.  Yet despite the nerves, there’s a noticeable bulge in the front of his jeans; he’s either hung like a horse or he’s already getting hard.  Maybe both.  Steve’s stomach does a little flip of anticipation.

New Guy’s fingers clumsily find the button in his jeans and then pull down the zipper.  It takes him a little while, his hand shaking; and Steve doesn’t know why he doesn’t use both hands, but he doesn’t question it.  Especially not after his jeans are undone, pushed down to his thighs along with his briefs, and his cock is out on display.

Yeah, Nat was right.  New Guy is super sexy; at least what Steve can see, from his navel down to his thighs…

New Guy has one of the nicest cocks Steve has ever seen.  Hands down, without question.  He’s thick but not too long, uncircumcised, the big blunt head starting to peek past the foreskin.  He’s already half-hard like Steve suspected, beginning to flush deep with color, and Steve watches with interest as New Guy wraps a hand around his shaft.  Not stroking, just holding. 

When he doesn’t step closer, doesn’t move to feed his cock through the hole, Steve reaches his hand out to him.  “Hey, you don’t gotta be shy, pal.  Bring that pretty cock over here.”

New Guy takes a hesitant step forward, his dick giving an involuntary little jerk, and Steve smiles.

“Yeah, gonna take good care of you,” Steve says, and then he has his hands on that lovely, _lovely_ cock. 

But oh, it’s even better to the touch!  Steve gently runs his fingers up and down the shaft, enjoying the feel of velvety soft skin, and watches as it continues to twitch and jerk to full hardness.  There’s already a pearl of precum at the tip, and so Steve swipes it up with his thumb and rubs it in circles around the fat mushroom head. 

There’s a soft sigh from New Guy, and then the familiar _bump_ as his hips go flush with the wood.  Steve grins, takes pity on him, and goes down.

And oh, he feels so good in Steve’s mouth, heavy on his tongue, forcing his lips to stretch wide.  He tastes like clean skin with the bitter touch of precum, and he smells fresh from the tip down to the neatly trimmed curls at the base.  He must have just washed before he’d come over.  There’s no hint of musk, and certainly none of that sour scent some men with uncut cocks have. 

New Guy breathes heavy but steady, and Steve bobs his head, eyes closed, feeling dreamy and so turned on.  He sneaks a hand down into his sweatpants and palms his erection, just to take the edge off.  New Guy is his last this afternoon.  Steve can take a nice hot shower after this, maybe bust out the vibrator, imagine he’s riding this wonderful, amazing, fantastic…

“Mmm, gonna come.”

The words startle Steve out of his head.  It hasn’t been that long, only a couple of minutes, and Steve thinks about pulling off.  Actually wonders if New Guy is trying to _tell_ him to pull off, that he’s too close and wants to last longer.  But the words sound more like a warning than anything else.  So Steve seals his lips around him and doubles down, sucking hard on his cockhead while jerking his shaft with a quick hand.

New Guy is silent when he comes, so silent Steve is sure he’s holding his breath.  But his cock pulses and pulses and _pulses_ , hot cum hitting the back of Steve’s throat and spilling across his tongue.  And Steve doesn’t know what it is: the fact that the man comes for ages, intense and throbbing, or if it’s the sheer amount of cum that ends up in Steve’s mouth and dribbling down his chin…

Steve squeezes himself once, strokes twice, and moans around New Guy’s cock as he comes in his own sweats.

New Guy sucks in a deep, shuddering breath afterward, then lets it out long and slow.  And yeah, Steve thinks as he licks that gorgeous cock clean, feeling all happy and spacey in the afterglow; the man had definitely been holding his breath while he came. 

It's then that Natasha’s text comes back to Steve: _Guy’s been having a tough time lately.  Could really use the stress relief._ He also remembers what New Guy had said in his own text.  That it’d been three years since he’d split with his partner, and three years since he’d been with anyone else.

And this is why Steve has sworn off knowing anything about his clients. Because now, as he presses a soft goodbye kiss to that stunning cock, he starts _thinking_.  Wondering what the guy’s story is.  Wondering why it’s been three years for him, and why he’s at Steve’s gloryhole in the first place.  Maybe he’d gotten burned bad in that last breakup, or maybe he’s still hung up on the man. 

Poor thing…

Then, from the other side of the wood, New Guy murmurs, “Shit, sorry…”

“Mmm, for what?” Steve asks, absently wiping his mouth.  He licks his fingers, still feeling relaxed and post-coital.  The taste of the guy’s semen is deeply bitter; he must suck down coffee like it’s his lifeblood.  Though Steve doesn’t even care at this point.  The feel of that throbbing orgasm in his mouth had been so hot, so intense, the unpleasant taste hadn’t even registered until after.

“I’m not…”  The New Guy trails off, sounding embarrassed.  “Swear m’not a quick draw.”

And _oh_ , Steve thinks.  He has to keep himself from laughing, because he’s sure that won’t be taken well.  Instead, he says.  “Hey, man, don’t worry about it.  I don’t judge.”

New Guy doesn’t say anything, just tucks himself away and does up his flies.  Steve really feels for him, and also wants to hit himself.

“You said it’d been three years since anyone’d gotten you off?” Steve asks.

“Uh, yeah…”  He still sounds embarrassed.

“Then I _really_ ain’t judging,” Steve says with a smile. 

New Guy doesn’t reply, just turns away to leave.  Steve gets a good look at his ass before he leans back and stops peering out the hole.  It’s an A+ ass.

He gets the text about thirty minutes later, after he’s cleaned himself up and put away the plywood…

_Thank you – New Guy_

It's right about that time Steve realizes the man left a fifty by the front door as payment.  A fifty dollar bill, for a three-minute blowjob that Steve got off from too.  And now Steve’s getting a ‘thank you’ text…

This guy’s un-fucking-real.

**_My pleasure pal – Steve_ **

**_Lmk if u wanna come back.  Love to see u again, so to speak – Steve_ **

_You avail next weekend? – New Guy_

**_Yeah.  Same time? – Steve_ **

_Yeah – New Guy_

**_Alright.  Ur scheduled – Steve_ **

Steve smiles at his phone, sets it down on the kitchen counter, and goes about starting dinner.

~*~

Natasha texts him the next day while he’s at work.

_So how’d he do? – Nat_

And Steve knows immediately who she’s talking about.  Honestly, he’s sort of disappointed.  Does she really think he’s going to give her a blow-by-blow.  Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

**_Nosy much? – Steve_ **

**_Isnt he ur friend? – Steve_ **

She doesn’t outright answer Steve’s question, but she says enough.  Whomever he is to her, she cares a lot.

_Told me he did it but he’s all squirrely – Nat_

_I shouldn’t worry about him, he was military for fuck’s sake.  He can take care of himself - Nat_

_But hey, someone has to worry about him - Nat_

Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Too much information.  He feels a headache coming on.

**_I know more bout this guy than the all my other clients combined.  And its ur fault – Steve_ **

_?? – Nat_

**_Hes having a hard time.  Broke up with his partner.  Hadn’t gotten any in 3 years.  Now ur saying hes military – Steve_ **

**_I dont know my clients dont want to know them.  Dont talk to them.  Makes it weird – Steve_ **

There’s dead air from Natasha for quite a while, long enough that Steve puts his gloves back on and gets back to work.  But then his phone vibrates in his back pocket.

_Ex-military.  Honorably discharged – Nat_

_And I never said it’d been three years since his break-up_ _🙃_ _– Nat_

Steve thinks he may slam his face into the brick he’s working on.

**_Ok he told me that.  But u told me everything else! – Steve_ **

_Thought you didn’t talk to your clients?_ _😜_ _– Nat_

**_I dont he just offered the info – Steve_ **

_I see – Nat_

**_I dont talk!  I asked if he was clean and he TMId – Steve_ **

_I see lol – Nat_

**_Dont – Steve_ **

_I’m not – Nat_

Steve puts his phone away at that, feeling somewhat miffed about the whole exchange.  He hears it vibrate in his back pocket as he gets back to work, but doesn’t look at it right away.  Waits until lunch break to text back.

_You never answered me? – Nat_

_Did he do ok? – Nat_

_God did he *not* do ok?  Is that why you were talking to him?  Did you have to talk him down? – Nat_

_Are you ignoring me?  Little shit – Nat_

Steve, however, gets hung up on ‘talk him down.’  He frowns down at his phone, pausing with his sandwich hallway to his mouth, before starting to eat with one hand and text with the other.

**_Talk him down from what?  He dangerous? – Steve_ **

_No no!  He’s not violent.  Just anxiety, PTSD – Nat_

_You’re a vet too.  You know how it is – Nat_

And God, does Steve ever—which is why he doesn’t want to know.  Because now he’s feeling for this guy, this guy whose name he doesn’t even know…  But who apparently knows some of the same hell that Steve knows, and who came down Steve’s throat less than 24 hours ago.

**_Yeah – Steve_ **

And then because he’s an idiot…

**_Dont worry.  It was good – Steve_ **

_Good? – Nat_

**_Yeah – Steve_ **

_I guess he’s just feeling shy then.  Doesn’t wanna talk – Nat_

Steve rolls his eyes, thinks about pointing out that this _is_ a personal, private matter.  If New Guy doesn’t want to talk to her about it, then he doesn’t have to, friends or no. 

But he doesn’t feel like getting into it with her, so he just replies…

**_He seemed kinda embarrassed after.  Maybe too private to talk bout? – Steve_ **

_Lol Maybe – Nat_

She doesn’t offer anything else, and Steve doesn’t know what else to say, so he leaves it there.  He pockets his phone, finishes his lunch, and gets back to work. 

He resolutely does _not_ think about New Guy, veteran, having a hard time.

~*~

Wednesday evenings are group therapy at the local VFW.

It used to be a weekly appointment, something Steve did along with individual therapy in order to keep his wits about himself.  In order to keep functioning like a normal human being while dealing with the night terrors and hyperarousal and bouts of manic depression. 

Though now, four years after his own honorable discharge, his symptoms are more manageable.  There are still bad times—days when the jitters won’t leave him and nights when he dreams of crashes and explosions—but for the most part, he is happy.  He still hasn’t managed to get on a plane since he returned from overseas, but at this point, he doesn’t particularly care if he never flies again. 

So Steve only goes to group therapy now if he’s feeling down, or if he has a lot on his mind.  Like a certain guy.  Who apparently struggles with anxiety and PTSD.  Who despite that, seems to be very sweet.  And who has an _amazing_ cock.

Not that Steve’s going to talk about him.  But he’s found listening to other people talk about what issues they’re wrestling with helps a lot.  Makes him feel not quite so alone.

The usual faces are there, and Steve nods politely as he grabs a chair and pulls it up to the circle.  Wilson is there, of course, and he greets Steve with a ‘hey, how’s it going?’  Steve returns with the obligatory ‘eh, living the dream,’ which gets him a chuckle from several of the guys in the circle.

Steve settles down next to the guy with long brown hair.  He’s a regular at these sessions—an amputee, his left arm gone, a deep dark sadness in his eyes.  Steve can remember worrying about him when the man had first started showing up to these sessions.  It was the sort of sadness guys came home with, only to end up six-feet underground with a bellyful of pills or a bullet in the head. 

But it’s been two years since the guy first started coming around, and here he still is.  He’s wearing his prosthetic today, one of those robotic ones where the fingers move.  Steve nods to him as he sits down, and the man nods back, silent. 

The guy’s not very talkative, sometimes doesn’t even share during therapy.  Sam asks they at least give an ‘it’s been a good week’ or ‘it’s been a difficult week,’ which he always does.  But he rarely extrapolates on _why_ it’s been good or _why_ it’s been bad.

James Barnes is the man’s name, though everyone just calls him Barnes.

And okay, maybe Steve’s spent some time looking at this guy.  Watching this guy.  Fretting over this guy.  But he’s so very cute; all tall, dark, and handsome.  A strong jaw, broad shoulders, and those stormy blue, sad eyes. 

Steve’s happy the man seems be healing from whatever trauma he's experienced, however long it may be taking him.  He’s never outright talked about whatever he’s gone through, whatever cost him the arm and whatever put that look in his eye.  But Steve knows that something happened to him overseas, something beyond the death and explosions. 

They start around the circle.  Stories of night terrors are prominent, as are incidents of hyperarousal and days filled with depression.  A couple tell of feeling inadequate, afraid that they can no longer be a good husband to their wife, a good father to their children.  Sam talks them through these feelings, and a few others offer their input. 

Steve’s turn to speak comes eventually.  He says it’s been a good week, for the most part.  Says he’s got a lot on his mind right now, and that he wanted to be around some other guys who understood how it was.  Sam says that he understands, and several of the other vets nod and hum in agreement.  Barnes nods next to him.

Then it’s Barnes’ turn.

“It’s been a good week,” Barnes says with a little smile.  A real smile.  Steve doesn’t think he’s actually seen the man smile like that before, and it’s so sweet Steve wants to die.

“Yeah?” Sam asks, offering a chance for Barnes to further explain.

“Yeah, real good,” is all that Barnes offers.  Except that his little smile turns into this embarrassed, shit-eating grin that universally means one thing.

He’s gotten laid.

Steve tries hard not to laugh at the look on his face, but a couple of the other guys are already chuckling.  From Barnes’ other side, Dugan claps him on the shoulder and says, “Sarge, you dog!”

Barnes flinches a bit at the sudden contact and flushes a brilliant shade of red.  It may be the cutest thing Steve’s ever seen.

And well, this isn’t exactly what Steve was planning on coming to therapy, but at least he’s not thinking about New Guy anymore…

Afterward, once Steve’s helped put up the chairs, chatted with Sam a bit, and gotten some free decaf and cookies—he finds Barnes standing outside the front entrance smoking a cigarette and staring up at the moon.

Steve leans against the wall next to him, figures he’ll finish his little Styrofoam cup of coffee before he leaves, and greets, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Barnes grunts back, before taking another drag off his cigarette.

Silence settles for a few moments, before Steve quietly asks, “It your first time since you been back stateside?”

Barnes cuts his eyes around, his robotic prosthetic humming as he flexes the fingers.  For a moment Steve thinks he’s offended, that the man’s going to tell him to fuck off.  But then Barnes answers, still sounding embarrassed, “Yeah, it’d been a while.  Was nervous as fuck.”

Steve smiles at him.  “I hear you.  It’s like losing your virginity all over again, at least if you weren’t dicking around over there”

“And I wasn’t,” Barnes says, nodding.  “Had a guy back home, back here.  Didn’t feel right to mess around.  I know other guys did, zip code rule and all, but…”

Barnes shrugs, while Steve’s brain short-circuits at ‘had a _guy_ back home.’  He comments, “Yeah, well, you got some class.  I’m sure your man was happy.”

“Huh, yeah,” Barnes says, with a saddened huff of laughter that says what his words don’t. 

And Steve thinks that if he were a bit braver with less issues of his own, he’d ask this man out.  Take him to a nice dinner, make him smile and laugh, try to erase some of the sadness from his gaze—and oh, Steve’d suck him so good at the end of the night if Barnes let him, if Barnes wanted him to.  Then that sweet, embarrassed, happy little smile would be all for Steve.

As it is, Barnes stamps his cigarette out on the sidewalk and murmurs a quiet farewell.  Steve waves goodbye and tells him to drive careful.

Steve doesn’t ask him out. 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the comments on the last chapter! They definitely gave me the gumption to continue.

New Guy becomes a scheduled regular on Sunday evenings, and he slowly begins to ruin Steve’s life.

He lasts longer the second and third time Steve goes down on him, though not by much.  Steve’s admittedly a little disappointed; he’s just not getting enough time with that _amazing_ cock.  And even though he tries not to judge, told New Guy he didn’t judge, he sort of starts judging…

That cock’s too nice to not be able to last. A good 10-minute drilling is all Steve wants; he thinks he’s easy enough to please.

The fourth time, though, New Guy lasts _a lot_ longer.  Long enough for Steve to really worship him.  To draw his tongue up and down his shaft in long, teasing licks.  To suck him fast and hard, only to break rhythm and back off.  To tease his crown and tickle his frenulum with the tip of his tongue. 

When Steve takes him deep and swallows around him, New Guy makes this deep, almost agonized noise.  It sounds like he’s hanging on by a thread.  Steve holds him there, keeping him snug in the back of his throat.  He waits for New Guy to come, sure that he will; heat coils low in his own belly in anticipation and excitement. 

God, he gets so damn worked up from just going down on this guy…

But he’s eventually forced to pull off, sucking  in a deep breath of air once he sits back.  New Guy groans and pants from the other side, his dick twitching, a stream of precum dribbling out and hitting the wood floor.  “Fuck,” Steve mumbles, watching.

“Please,” New Guy murmurs. 

And this guy is going to be the death of him, Steve is sure.  “What, sweetheart?” he asks, dragging his fingers up New Guy’s shaft soft and gentle.  His cock jerks like crazy and leaks more precum, and Steve thinks for a moment he’s going to come right then, from Steve’s fingertips just brushing his cock. 

He doesn’t, but rather says, low, “Please, m’so close…”

And shit, this guy…  It’s not as though Steve’s told him he can’t come, but here he is begging.  Steve pretends it’s because New Guy wants to please him, wants to last for him—escapes the reality that New Guy is probably trying to work on his stamina, or maybe gets off on begging.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, then takes a gamble.  “Oh, sweetheart, you been so good for me today.  Really let me work you over…”

New Guy whines high and needy.  Apparently, Steve’s gamble paid off.

“Want you to come for me,” Steve tells him.  “Come in my mouth, let me taste you.”

“Fucking hell,” New Guy curses, quiet, and Steve takes him all the way down again. 

Like usual, New Guy holds his breath.  His cock throbs perfectly, and he comes and comes and _comes_.  Moreso than Steve is used to, which is already a lot.  He swallows it all the best he can, though ends up choking a bit and having to pull off.  He catches the last drops from the aftershocks on his tongue, and listens as New Guy sucks in a breath and starts panting.

Then, as though the begging wasn’t surprising enough from this usually quiet man…  “Oh, babydoll,” New Guy murmurs, breathless.  “That was so good.  God, your mouth…”

Steve’s stomach flipflops.  He’s so hard; if he reaches a hand down and touches himself, he’ll be able to get off in just one stroke.  _Babydoll_ —Jesus, this fucking guy…

With a sudden shock of reality, it occurs to Steve that New Guy was probably imagining someone else.  Someone else’s hands, someone else’s mouth, some other _babydoll_.  His past lover, or some other man that he’s interested in.

It’s easy to do.  It’s not as though he and Steve can see each other.

Steve licks him clean, then presses a few butterfly kisses to the tip when the man doesn’t pull back right away.  New Guy stands at the hole for quite a while, breathing deep and catching his breath.  Steve pets and nuzzles him; plays with his foreskin, pulls it back down over the glans and rubs at the edges as he softens.  God, his cock is gorgeous, fucking perfect…

New Guy steps back from the gloryhole with a quiet cough, and Steve drops his hands to his knees, peering after him.  He gets a glimpse of the man’s backside, his hips turned away while he does up his flies.  His t-shirt is rucked up a bit, and his jeans are riding low on his hips.  There’s a tattoo on his right lower back, just above the swell of his ass.  A telltale block print eagle, The SHIELD emblem.

Steve rocks back on his haunches, blinking. 

Fuck, this guy wasn’t _just_ military.  He was SHIELD Special-Ops.  Like Steve.

Why else would he have that tattoo?

 _God, please tell me I don’t know this man_ , Steve thinks.  But then Natasha wouldn’t have sent him someone whom he’d once worked with, an agent whom he’d once commanded.  She’s sly, but not _mean_.

There’s shuffling from the other side of the wood, then New Guy’s quiet, embarrassed, “Thank you.”

The man thanks him every damn time, either before he leaves or via text.  It does something funny to Steve’s stomach.  “Don’t gotta thank me,” Steve tells him.  Then risks saying, “I get off on it.”

New Guy doesn’t reply, just shuffles away and lets himself out the front door.  Steve’s heart sinks, worried that New Guy didn’t want to hear what he’d said.  Didn’t want to think about the fact that there is some cockslut on the other side of the wood, especially if the man is trying to entertain some fantasy of a previous lover or current crush.

Then Steve rolls his eyes at himself, not sure why it matters, not sure why he’s letting himself feel disappointed.

It’s been a month, four goes at this man, and Steve is starting to lose his fucking mind.  He shakes his head and goes to clean up. 

Later that night, he pulls out his vibrator and images that cock, yet somehow it’s not quite as satisfying as it’s been in the past.

~*~

It happens the fifth time New Guy comes over.

As usual, he’s Steve last for the evening.  Steve’s already keyed up from his earlier clients, both excited and nervous for New Guy’s visit.  Which is sort of ridiculous; the nervousness at least.

There is nothing to be _nervous_ about.  He’s just another guy.  It’s just another dick.

Even if that dick is A+, first class…

When New Guy gets there, he unzips and feeds himself through the hole.  He’s not hard yet, which isn’t strange in itself—and he’s still _so_ lovely…  Thick even when he’s soft, weighty in Steve’s hand, his foreskin all silky to the touch.

But what is strange: he doesn’t get hard under Steve’s attentions. 

Usually he’s delightfully responsive, beginning to chub up as soon as Steve lays a finger on him.  Though now?  Steve teases his fingers up and down his shaft like the man enjoys, all gentle and suggesting of what’s to come.  Steve does it for a while, waiting for the usual twitches and jerks as the guy hardens; but when none come, he starts fisting him with a slow, firm hand.  And then when he still doesn’t get a reaction, he stops fooling around and just dives in.  

New Guy stays flaccid.

Steve keeps at it, at least until New Guy jerks back from the hole with a quiet yet hysterical curse.  Steve frowns, and asks, “You okay?”

New Guy doesn’t reply, only swears frantically.  Steve peers through the hole after him, worried, then instantly wishes he hadn’t looked. 

The man is turned with his side to the wood, his jeans and underwear sagged around his hips, right hand roughly yanking at his still-soft cock.  His left hand is clutching the front of his jeans, keeping them from falling to his ankles—except his left hand isn’t so much a hand as it is a metal clasp.  Robotic fingers, Steve realizes.  A prosthesis.

It takes only another second before all the pieces fall together.  Ex-military.  The SHIELD tattoo.  Left arm missing, and a robotic prosthesis…

It’s a knee-jerk response after that—Steve peeks further to catch a glimpse of New Guy’s face against his better judgment.  The man’s head is ducked down, and Steve is unable to see his features past the curtain of hair…  His long, dark brown, thick hair.

It’s him, the man from group therapy.  It has to be.  How many vets in the area are left-arm amputees with shoulder-length, brunet hair?

It’s Barnes.  Sergeant James Barnes.

Steve rocks back and sits hard, blinking.  He’s unsure what to do or say—this has never happened to him before, he’s never been in a situation where he knew one of his clients.  He should never have looked out that damn hole.  He has fucked up _so_ bad.

Except Steve’s aware that Barnes is still on the other side of the wood yanking on himself, distressed noises coming from the back of his throat.  So Steve clears his throat, and says, “Hey, pal, s’okay.  Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself…”

Barnes is already tugging up his pants and headed toward the door before Steve’s even finished the sentence.  The pounding of his boots is loud on Steve’s faux-wood floor, and he slams the front door shut behind himself, the sound ringing in the silence left behind. 

Steve can hear the squeal of tires on pavement moments later where he’s still sitting behind the gloryhole, dumbstruck.  He stands up slowly, looking around as if his existence has suddenly changed; as if the walls of his home office will be a different color, or the ceiling will be replaced by open sky…

But then reality kicks in, and he realizes that a shell-shocked Special Ops soldier just peeled out of his driveway in the middle of some sort of breakdown.

Steve picks up his cellphone from beside him, scrolls through to New Guy’s number, and texts…

**_U alright? – Steve_ **

It’s a dumb question, Steve knows.  The guy’s probably beyond embarrassed; and then there’s the inherent feelings of defectiveness and emasculation.  Or at least that’s how Steve felt the few times it’d happened to him, back in that first year he’d been back stateside.  He’d felt a little better finding out it was common for vets to experience problems sexually at some point… 

He’d felt a little better, but not a lot.

And he doesn’t expect a heartfelt response from New Guy, especially now that he knows _who_ New Guy is.  Barnes is nothing if not brief in group therapy.  However, he still expects _something_.  A simple ‘y’ for yes, even if it’s a lie.  At least that way, Steve will know he hasn’t run his car off the road, isn’t lying dead in a ditch.

Five minutes go by.  Ten minutes go by.  Steve puts away his plywood, then puts away his hand towels and flavored lube.  He cleans himself up and changes his boxers shorts. 

Barnes doesn’t text him back, so Steve tries again.

**_U alright? – Steve_ **

Steve turns on the TV and settles down on the couch, pulls out his tablet and begins to scroll through Facebook.  And while he’s mindlessly scanning his feed, it occurs to him: it was Natasha that sent Barnes to him.  Steve should be able to find Barnes amidst her friends.

Except a quick scroll through her friends list reveals nothing.  Steve begins wondering if maybe he’s mistaken, maybe New Guy _isn’t_ Barnes.  Maybe there _is_ another left arm amputee with that exact same haircut and color in the area; one who uses a robotic prosthesis, too. 

Or maybe Steve has finally lost his mind, and he’s having some sort of psychotic break.  Maybe he’s merging these two men together in his head because of his attraction—'New Guy With the Amazing Cock’ plus ‘Cutie From the VFW’ equals…? 

Nothing, because none of this is real.

But then Steve sees the pic.  It’s from a few months past, Natasha and Barnes sitting side-by-side in a bar, Natasha’s arm around Barnes’ shoulders.  It looks like perhaps they’d asked the bartender to take the photo; they each have a beer raised as though in toast.  Barnes has a soft, sweet smile on his face.  Steve can’t remember ever seeing him smile like that before.

Natasha has included a comment on the photo: _Out celebrating with my brother-in-arms, the bravest man I know.  Happy Birthday, James. <3_

Steve wonders who the hell this guy is.  It’s not as though he knows Natasha well, only met her in the aftermath of SHIELD’s corruption scandal and subsequent disbandment.  They’d been in D.C. at the same time to testify and had ended up going out for a few drinks.  Had shared a sloppy kiss outside her hotel room before Steve had pulled away and told her he went down on strange men at a gloryhole, and did that make him fucked up?  It did, didn’t it?  He was so fucked up…

She’d patted him on the chest then and told him to go sleep it off.  Steve doesn’t know why she still talks to him.

Another five minutes, then another ten minutes go by, and Steve begins to really worry about Barnes.

**_Can u just lmk u made it home ok? Or wherever ur going – Steve_ **

**_I kinda worried – Steve_ **

It’s a long couple of minutes before Steve’s phone _pings._

_I’m home – New Guy_

_Sorry – New Guy_

Steve replies immediately, though he hesitates before changing Barnes’ contact name in his phone.

**_S’okay_ ** **_🙂_ ** **_– Steve_ **

**_Just worried – Steve_ **

_I’ll stop by and leave cash in your mailbox tomorrow.  Forgot to pay – Barnes_

Steve thinks he’s going to die, and this man is going to be the cause.

**_No, dont.  Its fine – Steve_ **

_I need to - Barnes_

_Let me salvage what’s left of my pride – Barnes_

_At least as much as I had in the first place – Barnes_

Steve’s heart breaks.

**_No you dont gotta – Steve_ **

**_It happens sometimes not a big deal – Steve_ **

There’s a long pause.  Steve wonders if he’s crossed some sort of line, if he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge what happened.  He’s still frowning down at his phone, trying to decide whether or not to apologize, when the reply comes.

_Happens too damn often – Barnes_

_I thought only old guys had this problem. And I’m not – Barnes_

_Old that is. Not old. Not yet at least lol – Barnes_

And that was happily unexpected, Steve thinks.  He bites his lip, then chances texting…

**_U military, rite – Steve_ **

_Yeah… Why? Nat tell you? – Barnes_

**_Yeah she did.  And I saw ur tattoo – Steve_ **

**_I was SHIELD Ops too.  Im assuming u musta been – Steve_ **

**_Just saying I get it.  Dont worry about it.  I been there too – Steve_ **

Another long pause, but then Barnes finally replies.

_You were SHIELD?  You’re shitting me – Barnes_

_I shouldn’t be surprised, I don’t think Nat knows any guys who aren’t military – Barnes_

**_Lol right? – Steve_ **

_Fuck, do we know each other? – Barnes_

Steve’s heart drops to his feet and his stomach ends up in his throat.

**_None of my agents live in the area anymore so I doubt it – Steve_ **

_Your agents? You an officer? – Barnes_

**_Captain – Steve_ **

_Yeah, all my higher ups got jailed.  We don’t know each other – Barnes_

And Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that.

**_Shit all of them? – Steve_ **

_Yeah – Barnes_

Steve waits for him to further explain, but he doesn’t.  He reminds himself that as far as Barnes knows, he’s just talking to the mouth behind the fuckhole. 

_Damn, I had a SHIELD Cap down on his knees for me and couldn’t get it up – Barnes_

_This sucks – Barnes_

_No pun intended – Barnes_

Steve laughs aloud at that, and quickly texts back.

**_Hey bb, you already had me choking on it – Steve_ **

**_Tho I sit back there, cant be on my knees for too long.  Accident overseas – Steve_ **

**_Hope that doesnt ruin it for you – Steve_ **

_Lol you expect -that- to ruin it for me? – Barnes_

_Nah man you give the best head s2g – Barnes_

_I hope that’s okay to say.  Not weird – Barnes_

And Steve’s typing as fast as he can, but the apology still comes.

_Sorry – Barnes_

**_Dont apologize. Not weird – Steve_ **

**_Sweetie, your easy.  U got such a nice cock, makes me so hot – Steve_ **

**_Making me hot just talking bout it – Steve_ **

Another long pause, and Steve begins to worry.  Had he said something wrong?  But then…

_I know what you’re trying to do.  But it’s not gonna happen for me today Sorry – Barnes_

**_Wasnt tryna do nothing - Steve_ **

_I mean we can keep texting but…  Had a rough night last night, been on edge all day, had to take a pill at lunch – Barnes_

_You know how it is – Barnes_

_Right? – Barnes_

**_Yeah def do – Steve_ **

**_Its ok dont worry bout it – Steve_ **

_Think I’m just gonna have a drink and go to bed – Barnes_

**_K, try to get some sleep – Steve_ **

_Lol I will – Barnes_

_Thanks for checking on me, you didn’t have to do that – Barnes_

**_Just watching out for a SHIELD brother – Steve_ **

_🙂_ _– Barnes_

Steve puts down his phone, and then looks back to his tablet.  The photo of Barnes and Natasha stares back at him.  He knows way too much about this man.  It’s upsetting, damn near frightening.

He wants to know more.

~*~

Barnes is at Wednesday night therapy that week, because of course he is.  He always is.  And Steve sits down next to him, because he’s a glutton for punishment.

Barnes is dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white t-shirt, and he sits with his legs crossed, one thick thigh thrown over the other.  It’s really distracting.  Just like the way his shirt hugs his pecs _just right_ is distracting.  He’s forgone his prosthetic today, making Steve wonder if there’s some rhyme or reason for when he wears it.  Maybe he only needs it for certain things?  Maybe it bothers his stump?

From what Steve can tell, the amputation is high.  They might have even had to take the entire humerus, left only the scapula and clavicle braced together.  Steve wonders if that’s even something possible, and how a prosthesis would attach.  But it certainly looks that way.  The t-shirt’s sleeve is rolled completely up and pinned neatly against Barnes’ shoulder, and there is no bump protruding against the fabric.

Steve can’t stop thinking about what had happened Sunday evening.  He knows himself.  He knows if it had been anyone else, he would have been judgmental.  Would have rolled his eyes and laughed.  But because it was New Guy, veteran, having a hard time—who then turned out to be Sergeant James Barnes from group therapy—all Steve feels is empathy.

And he keeps thinking about what he could have done if Barnes had stayed.  He keeps contemplating whether the gloryhole is big enough to eat someone (Barnes) out through.  Maybe not, but he can get his hand through the hole, so it’s definitely big enough to finger Barnes through.  It not something he’s ever done to any of his other clients, always worried about the hygiene of it, though he can’t imagine that would be an issue with Barnes. 

Steve’s pretty sure the man still showers every time before he visits the gloryhole.  He always smells clean, fresh, his natural musk very light.  It’s honestly kind of endearing that the guy cares that much.

And hell, Steve would have just touched and petted him if Barnes had let him, if he’d thought it’d felt good.  Because that cock really is second to none.  And Steve is perfectly capable of kissing it, licking it, stroking it, fucking _worshiping_ it—all without Barnes being hard.

Sure, it’d need to be hard if Steve was going to sit on it; but at this point, considering the circumstances of their impossible relationship, that’s never going to happen. 

Steve suddenly realizes he’s been side-eyeing the man’s crotch, acutely aware that _it_ is right there hiding under a couple layers of fabric.  Steve quickly looks away, feeling himself blushing like a schoolgirl.  What the fuck is wrong with him?

Luckily Barnes hasn’t seemed to notice.  He’s frowning at his fingernails, which are painted black for some odd reason, and is busy chipping the paint off his middle finger with his thumbnail.  The man’s built like a brick shithouse; he has no right to look so adorable.

The meeting begins, and Steve’s turn to talk comes before Barnes’.  Steve contemplates just up and saying what he’s really feeling, which is that he’s losing his _Goddamn mind_.  But he settles on saying he’s got a lot going on, and he’s feeling really stressed.  Someone asks him if it’s work, which is a really convenient lie, so he agrees that yes, it’s work.

One look at Sam says the other soldier doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t press Steve about it.

When Barnes is prompted next, he just offers, _it’s been a shit week_.  And it gets left at that.

All Steve hears, though, is that voice.  Rich and soft and warm:

_“Please, m’so close…”_

_“Oh, babydoll…”_

_“That was so good.  God, your mouth…”_

He wishes he could say he feels guilty, he really does.  But when Steve gets home, he gets on the bed, braces one of his feet against the headboard, and fingers himself open.  He eases in his vibrating plug and then makes himself comfortable, relaxes back into the pillows and closes his eyes.  He pictures Barnes’ body and imagines his voice as he turns the vibrations on low.

He pictures Barnes fucking him, the way his hole would look stretched around the man’s thick cock.  He would want to get fucked in a position where he could see; like on top, cowboy position, where he could tilt his hips and look down between his legs. 

Hell, Steve just likes that position in general.  Likes being in control of the depth and angle.  He thinks it would be a good position for Barnes, too, considering the amputation.  Barnes could just lie back and relax, use his hand to support Steve’s lower back or give Steve a rub.  He wouldn’t have to worry about supporting his upper body weight with just the one arm.

And he’d let Steve ride him just how Steve wants, at just the right pace.  He wouldn’t try to thrust up too hard or too deep when Steve isn’t ready, no—he’s never even tried to fuck Steve’s mouth, and that’s just the mouth behind the fuckhole. 

Steve may have found the most considerate bastard in all of the US.

And he’d be so sweet, would call Steve all those honied names like _babydoll_ and _darlin’_.  He’d tell Steve how good he was, how good he was doing, how good he felt.  He’d touch Steve’s face and kiss him while they fucked…

He’d tell him it’s okay, that he understands.

He’d tell him it’s okay, that he’s kind of fucked up too.

When Steve comes that night, it’s with Barnes’ name on his lips.


	3. Part 3

Steve gets the text the following Saturday afternoon.

_Dunno if you’re expecting me but I’m not gonna make tom – Barnes_

_Sorry – Barnes_

Steve’s between clients, and he looks down at the message with a frown.  It’s not completely unexpected, but still disappointing.

**_Ok no worries – Steve_ **

**_I see u next week? – Steve_ **

_Yeah maybe – Barnes_

_If it’s okay with you – Barnes_

Steve’s heart breaks apart at that.  If it’s _okay_ with him?  What the hell…

**_Sweetie its *more* than ok – Steve_ **

**_That cocks always welcome round here_ ** **_💋🍆👅_ ** **_– Steve_ **

_Lol – Barnes_

_Don’t want to waste your time again – Barnes_

And Steve’s going to die.  This man is going to kill him.

**_Not a waste of time if u want it – Steve_ **

**_I want it, so if u do 2, not a waste – Steve_ **

Then, just because he feels like it will offer the other man some assurance…

**_If u have another bad day we can always do somethin else – Steve_ **

_Like what, talk? – Barnes_

Steve stares at that for a long time, trying to figure out if the guy is being sarcastic or not.  God, this is the only bad part about texts: no tone or nuance.

**_Uh sure? If u want – Steve_ **

_You meant sex something else didn’t you – Barnes_

_Fuck all I’m an idiot – Barnes_

**_No ur not – Steve_ **

**_I meant whatev would make u feel good – Steve_ **

**_If that’s talk then we talk_ ** **_🙂_ ** **_– Steve_ **

_You’re somethin else, you know that? – Barnes_

Steve’s still trying to figure out what to do with that text when the next one comes.

_I could suck you – Barnes_

Steve chokes on his own spit.  His cock, which had softened after his last client, starts to take a definitive interest in the current proceedings.

**_Oh sweetie – Steve_ **

**_Bet ur a great lover arent u? – Steve_ **

_Lol I try – Barnes_

_I like a satisfied man in my bed – Barnes_

Steve groans quietly, squeezing himself through his sweats with one hand.  He hears the front door open, his next client letting themselves in, and he’s strangely disappointed.  He’d rather keep texting Barnes than suck this client’s cock… and what the hell is happening to him?

**_Sorry gotta go, but were def revisiting this convo later – Steve_ **

Steve puts his phone away to take care of his client, and doesn’t see Barnes’ replies until later.  The last one makes him chuckle.

_Alright if you say so – Barnes_

_I’ll be there next Sun – Barnes_

_Have fun this afternoon_ _🍆_ _– Barnes_

~*~

Steve doesn’t go to Wednesday night therapy at the VFW, but the universe seems to have its cards stacked against him…

He runs by the grocery Friday evening on his way home from work, only to find Barnes in aisle five.  There’s a woman with him; she’s bent down and peering at the items on the bottom shelf.  Meanwhile, Barnes leans against the handles of their shopping cart, watching the woman with a tired sort of affection. 

A surge of anger and jealousy winds its way through Steve’s chest, but he tamps it down quickly.  He has no right to feel that way.

The woman stands up, contemplating the box of pasta in her hands, and asks, “Hey, spaghetti sound good for tonight?”

Barnes grunts.  “Don’t gotta cook for me,” he says.

“We really gonna do this _again_?” she replies, glancing back over her shoulder at Barnes.

Steve gets a good look at her face when she moves.  Stormy blue eyes and thick lips, high cheekbones and a little divot in her chin.  She’s not a girlfriend as Steve had first assumed; no, she’s a relative, and a close one at that.  Too young to be his mother, too old to be his daughter…

She has to be his sister, _maybe_ a cousin or niece.  Though the resemblance is strong—Steve would bet money they’re brother and sister.

Especially after the rest of the exchange…

The woman throws the pasta in the cart before leaning in close to Barnes.  She rests her hand on his bicep, gently playing with the sleeve of his t-shirt, then says, “You okay?  I can finish up here if you need to step outside.”

Barnes looks down at her—she’s a good head shorter than him, standing just at his shoulder.  He’s silent, seemingly considering her, and Steve is certain he’s going to say yes, he needs to go.  That he’s going to walk away and leave her alone with the buggy. 

But then he sneaks his hand around and pinches her on the back right between her shoulderblades.  She squeals in response, loud enough to make Steve flinch and an older woman nearby glare.  Barnes shushes her, chuckling low, and that laugh has no right to be that sexy.

“You _ass_ ,” the woman hisses, shoving him away from the shopping cart so she can push it down the aisle.  He easily surrenders; there’s no way she would actually be able to push him away, she’s half his size.  He razzes her ponytail as he steps around behind her, making her grumble at him and smooth her hair back.

She stops suddenly then, looking around with a frown, before turning and pointing behind herself.  Right toward Steve.  Steve feels his shoulders rise, feels himself starting to panic.

But then she says, “Buck, I forgot the sauce.  It’s up high, can you…?”

Barnes is already turning before she’s finished the sentence, meandering down the aisle toward Steve.  In a panic, Steve spins into the shelves and begins thoroughly pondering the sauce jars in front of him.  The spaghetti sauce jars…  Shit.

“Excuse me,” Barnes murmurs as he reaches past Steve to the top shelf, grabbing whatever brand of sauce must be their go-to.  He pauses then, and Steve can see him looking out of the corner of his eye.  Steve has the momentary inane thought that the man recognizes him from the gloryhole, before he realizes they’ve been going to the same therapy sessions for almost two years now.

Steve bites back his discomfort and straightens up to meet Barnes gaze.  Barnes is frowning at him, obviously trying to place him, but it must click when their eyes meet.  A little grin finds its way to Barnes lips, and something hot squirms in Steve’s stomach.

“Hey, man,” Barnes greets.  “How’re you?”

“Eh, pretty good,” Steve answers.  “Running errands.”

“Yeah, us too,” Barnes says, glancing behind himself at his sister.  The woman is staring at them both in intense interest, something that makes Steve uncomfortable.  It must make Barnes uncomfortable too, because he has a strange look on his face when he turns back to Steve.  Then, apparently trying to break the awkward silence that’s fallen, Barnes gestures with his sauce jar and says, “This one’s good, if you’re trying to decide…”

And yeah, this man’s definitely going to kill him.  Steve’s survived two years of service in the Army, eight years in service to SHIELD, getting his aircraft shot down in the middle of the desert…  And now this ex-SHIELD agent is going to end up killing him with his soft smile and gentle demeanor and amazing cock. 

“I’ll have to try it then,” Steve tells him, grabbing his own jar from the top shelf.

Barnes gives him this delighted little smile in return, as though he’s beyond elated that Steve listened to him and took him up on his recommendation.  And God, for the hundredth time, Steve wonders what this man has been through. 

“Well, I guess I’ll catch you later?” Barnes says, and Steve’s not quite sure why it’s a question.  Maybe because he wasn’t at therapy this week.

“Yeah, for sure,” Steve says.  “Take care.”

“You too,” Barnes answers, before turning and walking back to his sister.  Said sister seems to be vibrating out of her skin with excitement.

And Steve can’t help himself.  Barnes’ ass just looks so nice in his blue jeans, and the denim is hugging his thighs just right, not too loose but not too tight either.  And God, his shoulders; even with the high amputation, no prosthesis today, he’s so broad.  Thick and muscled. 

He’s just such a fucking _man_.

Steve tears his gaze away, very aware he’s been staring.  His cheeks are burning, and Barnes’ sister is watching at him with a shit-eating grin.  So Steve quickly puts his sauce in his buggy, then walks a few steps forward. 

He begins analyzing the alfredo sauce with deep concentration.

Barnes returns to his sister, puts his jar into the cart, and then his sister whispers, “You know that guy?”

Except she’s one of those people who doesn’t know how to whisper.  It’s just breathy talking.  Steve holds in his laughter, while Barnes answers, “Yeah, from therapy at the VFW.”

“Oh?” she replies, sounding absolutely thrilled. “He’s a vet?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, with that _‘uh, duh…’_ tone of voice.  “Therapy.  At the VFW.”

“Yeah, yeah, haha, I get it,” she says.  “I was just checking.”

They fall into silence as they round the corner of the aisle.  Steve lingers where he is, not wanting to be the creep that follows them through the store.  He figures he’ll give them some time to move away before he continues on.

God, he’s planning his grocery trip route on where the sexy ex-SHIELD agent is.  He’s a certifiable headcase…

And then from the next aisle over, Steve hears the sister whisper (or rather, attempt to whisper), “He was totally checking you out, you know?”

Steve almost chokes, while Barnes hisses, “Rebecca!”

“What?” she replies.  “It’s true.”

“And he’s in the next aisle still.  He can prolly hear you.”

“I’m whispering.”

“No, trust me.  You’re not.”

“Well, you’re not either.”

Barnes gives a long put-upon sigh.  Then, he says, “I know you think every man that glances at me is looking ‘cause they’re queer, but I promise you.  That ain’t it.”

“I don’t think that every man that looks at you ‘is queer’.”  Steve can hear the air-quotes in her tone; she apparently disapproves of him using that word.  “But I’m a woman—and I know the difference between a guy looking and a guy _looking_.”

Barnes grunts at her.

“That guy was _looking_ at you,” she presses.

Barnes grunts again.

“I mean, a whole up and down and up again…”

“Alright, I get it,” Barnes cuts in, sounding irritated.  But he doesn’t snap at her, doesn’t bark or yell.  He just puts a firm end to the sentence.

The sister sighs, and Steve hears the cart come to a stop in the aisle.  “Buck, I just worry,” she says.  “And I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Barnes says, though even _he_ doesn’t sound convinced.

The sister is silent for several long moments.  Steve practically holds his breath, feeling guilty for eavesdropping but not guilty enough to actually move away.  Eventually, she says, “When was the last time you were with someone and were actually _satisfied_?  Because that guy back there…”

“Becca!” Barnes hisses, sounding somewhere between mortified and hysterical.  “M'not talking about this with my baby sister in the middle of the grocery store.”

“You were the one that told me in the first place…”

“I was drunk, I didn’t mean to.  Don’t even remember…”

“And I know I’ll always be your ‘baby’ sister, but I’m not a child anymore.  We’re both adults.  We can have an adult conversation about this.”

“I… Becca…”

“I mean, right off the bat…  That guy back there; he looked like he was actually about your own age.”

“Becca…”

“When?” Becca presses.  “When was the last time?”

And Steve is almost hurt that Barnes—or Buck?  Steve had thought his first name was James—that Buck doesn’t answer.  Doesn’t say, _About two weeks ago.  I was with someone and very satisfied two weeks ago._   Except he realizes the man probably hasn’t told his ‘baby’ sister he’s getting his dick sucked at a gloryhole on the weekends.

Then Buck answers, sounding devastated, “I loved him.”

“Oh, Buck…” Becca breathes, sounding just as overcome as her brother.  Clothing rustles; they’re hugging.  “I know you did.  I know.”

“I’m trying, Bec.  I promise, I’m trying.”

“I know you are, and I’m so proud of you.  For _everything_.  You know that.”

Buck sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slow and shaky.  Steve knows that sound well.  It’s the sound of a man struggling to hold himself together, to not breakdown in public.

Apparently Becca hears it, too.  “Come on, let’s finish up,” she says kindly.  “Then we’ll head home.  I’ll make dinner, we can have a few beers.  And it’s your turn to pick a series to binge.”

“Orange is the New Black,” Buck says, without hesitation.  Steve smiles.

“Ugh,” Becca groans, though she doesn’t actually sound upset.  “You just want to watch the girls make out.”

“If that’s what I was going for, we’d be watching Queer as Folk,” Buck says, cheeky.  Still, Steve hears him sniffle a bit.  It’s all at once heartwarming and heartrending. 

Becca laughs, and says, “Oh, Jesus Christ.  Watch that on your laptop and be gross by yourself.”  Their cart in the other aisle begins to move away.  Buck echoes her laughter.  Then Becca snaps, “And don’t you dare pinch me again, asshole.  I see you back there.”

Buck chuckles and says, “I’ll wait till you’re not expecting it.”  And after a brief pause, “Love you.”

Steve can hear the raw affection in her voice when she answers, “Love you too, you big jerk.”

~*~

Buck shows up as scheduled that Sunday.

Steve’s not quite sure what to expect after their last text conversation; doesn’t know if they’re about to sit and have a heart-to-heart or if he’s going to get to choke on that dick again.  But then Buck’s standing in front of the hole, hand fumbling with his belt buckle.

Steve can see the tent in his jeans, big and obvious.  He wonders if the guy had been that way when he’d arrived; if he’d gotten hard driving over here, if he’d stepped out of his car and walked up the front steps packing that bulge in the front of his jeans. 

“Shit,” Steve murmurs, watching as Buck gets his flies undone.  His jeans sag down his hips, and then that pretty, _pretty_ cock bobs out. 

“Yeah,” Buck says with a deep, husky laugh.  “I swear, there’s no fucking rhyme or reason.”

Steve watches him wrap his hand around himself, lightly squeezing, just trying to relieve that pressure.  “Nah, sweetheart,” Steve tells him, reaching out through the hole for him.  “You said you were having a crap day last time, that’s all.  You feeling better today?”

Buck huffs out another throaty laugh and feeds himself through the hole.  Steve runs a fingertip up the underside of his shaft, tracing that big vein, and moans as Buck’s cock gives him a little twitch.  Damn, the man’s body is so sensitive, so responsive…

Buck groans, and then murmurs, “Fuck, m’so horny.  Been thinking about this all day—hell, been thinking about it since last night.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, circling his fingers around the base and slowly stroking up the shaft.  “God, sweetie, you’re so hard…”

Buck gasps quietly as Steve brushes his thumb along his frenulum.  The man’s foreskin is already retracted naturally, his cockhead flushed with blood and leaking precum.  Damn, he gets so wet when he’s aroused, just drips with it.

Fucking hell, Steve’s in love…

“Go… go slow,” Bucky murmurs, as Steve gives him a good, firm stroke.  “M’on a hair trigger.  Been hard since I left the fucking house.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.  While he thinks, _Damn right you have.  No way you got this hard between my front door and my gloryhole_.  And since Buck’s his last for the day, as usual, and Steve has the time to spend…  “You wanna take the edge off real quick?  Then we can get down to business?”

Buck gives a startled, throaty laugh.  “Not gonna ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking.  I’m offering,” Steve points out.

Buck lets out breathy sigh as Steve licks the tip of his cock.  “Ain’t a teenager anymore…” Buck begins.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Steve interrupts, more forceful than intended.  Hell, he _knows_ this guy, knows he’s not underage.  “I don’t play that game here.”

Buck laughs; still breathless and aroused, but there’s something about it that’s real too.  Real and so very sweet.  “Nah, that’s not what a meant,” he says.  “Just saying I don’t got that go-and-go refractory time anymore, know?  ‘Specially not since I been back stateside.”

“Mmm,” Steve hums, then gives Buck’s crown another little lick.  “What are we talking?  A half hour or a half day?”

There’s another sweet, breathy little laugh, then Buck says, “Dunno, really.  Gotta remember, I haven’t…   _Oh, fuck_ —haven’t gotten laid in a while.”

“You have me,” Steve points out.  Then, when Buck just grunts, “You never get worked up at home?  Never take some time for yourself?”

“Those are two separate questions,” Buck answers.  Then, after a quiet moan, “A’course I get a little randy sometimes—but I usually just, you know, jerk it real quick.  Then take a nap.”

That last bit makes Steve laugh, and the puff of air against Buck’s heated flesh must feel good.  He lets out a gasping little moan, and so Steve gives his cockhead another kiss.  He thinks about teasing the other man for apparently getting sleepy and passing out after he comes; except with how prolonged and intense his orgasms are?  Yeah, Steve figures that’s understandable.

And Steve’s sort of second-guessing his offer now, wondering if Buck might be a one-and-done sort of guy.  Still, he asks, “Well, you wanna give it a shot?”

“Give what a shot?” Buck breathes, distracted.  Steve chuckles again.

“Mmm, let me take the edge off for you, sweetheart,” Steve says.  “Then I can take my time with you, really worship that pretty cock.”

“Aww _fuck_ , babydoll,” Buck moans, then agrees, “Yeah, yeah.  Wanna come.”

Steve doesn’t answer, not with words at least.  He just leans in and sucks Buck down.  The tip bumps against the back of Steve’s throat as he bobs his head, and Steve moans around him.  God, the way this man feels, so fucking thick and hot, throbbing against Steve’s tongue…

“M’coming,” Buck murmurs.  And Steve cups his sac, feels his balls drawn up tight, feels that rhythmic pulsing in his hand and against his tongue when the other man comes.  His semen is hot and bitter, and Steve swallows it all down greedily.

Buck starts his usual gasping and panting after, and Steve hums to him encouragingly, not pulling away, keeping him warm and wet in his mouth.  He tries to speak to him without words, _Yeah, sweetheart, that’s it.  Just let it go, I gotcha, you deserve this.  Let it go and let yourself feel good._

Buck eventually jerks back with a shiver and a quiet hiss, and Steve already knows; still, Buck mutters, “Too much…”

“Okay, sweetie,” Steve tells him, reaching his hand through the hole, beckoning.  “Come back here, I’ll be gentle.”

Buck takes a few hard inhales and exhales—he’s starting to catch his breath—and then Steve feels callused fingers brush against his own.  Right-handed fingers.  Buck’s fingers; and the feel of them makes Steve shiver.  The sensation is oddly, absurdly intimate, especially considering that Steve just had the man’s cock in his mouth moments prior. 

And then Buck is gently guiding his cock back to him, easing himself into Steve’s hand and through the hole.  He’s still half-hard but beginning to soften, wet and sticky from his orgasm, and so Steve begins to slowly lick him clean.  Buck gives a quiet, satisfied little sigh at the attention, and Steve smiles at the noise, happy and inordinately proud.  _He_ caused the man to make that noise.

“I dunno if…” Buck says, breaking the quiet.  He stops to clear his throat, his voice having come out rough and husky.  “Dunno if it’s gonna happen again.  I’m feeling real, well…”

Buck trails off, and so Steve presses a kiss to the tip of his cock, then gently plays with the edge of his foreskin.  “How do you feel?” Steve prompts.  “Did I suck this pretty cock real good?  Are you satisfied…?”  And it’d be a weird question to ask any other client, but he knows this man is ex-military, ex-SHIELD.  Remembers him saying in that text he’d had a bad night…  “You all relaxed, think you’ll get some good sleep tonight?”

“Oh, babydoll,” Buck says.  “You got no idea how much you been helping.  Seems silly, I know, but…”

“No, not silly,” Steve interrupts, still nuzzling and kissing that gorgeous cock.  And he can recognize this is an odd conversation to be slipping into while the other man’s flies are still undone, but Steve still finds himself saying, “Why do you think I’m back here?  Sometimes it just helps to feel wanted—you know, to touch someone else.  Even if maybe it’s not the most _conventional_ way of doing things.”

Buck’s silent for a while at that, just letting Steve pet him.  He’s gone mostly soft, but he still hasn’t pulled away, is just giving the occasional sigh while Steve presses kisses along his shaft and plays with his foreskin.  Eventually Buck says, “Then you get it.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I get it,” Steve tells him. 

Silence settles again for a brief moment, before Buck says, “God, that feels real nice, what you’re doing.”  Then, backtracking, “I mean I know I’m not hard…  If you wanna stop I understand.”

“If it feels good, I don’t wanna stop,” Steve says.  “It’s not exactly a hardship.  You got _such_ a pretty cock, sweetheart.  You mighta gone soft, but I sure as hell m'not.”

“Mmm,” Buck moans softly, and his cock gives a little twitch of interest against Steve’s lips.  But he doesn’t harden again.  “You really do get off on this, huh?”

“It’s hard not to get off on _this_ ,” Steve says, dragging his index finger up the underside of Buck’s dick.  Buck exhales heavily through his nose.  Steve adds, “Babe, I’d let you bend me over—no, I’d _beg_ you to bend me over and pound me into next week.”

“Fucking hell,” Buck curses.  “Whatever you wanted, doll.  Whatever the fuck you wanted.”

 _Dear Lord, this fucking man,_ Steve thinks.  He sneaks a hand into his sweats to palm at himself, stroking his length.  And he must make some sort of noise, because…

“Are you touching yourself?” Buck murmurs.

“Yeah,” Steve admits. 

Buck coos to him, soft and encouraging, and then Steve feels the touch of Buck’s fingers on his face, across his lips.  Steve’s had clients try to do this before, to reach through the hole and touch him while he serviced them.  He would always jerk back; it was too personal, broke the illusion of detached anonymity that Steve’s always held onto. 

Now, though?  Steve moans, turning his head just the slightest bit to draw Buck’s fingers into his mouth, eagerly sucking on them.  Buck curls his fingers, pressing down against his tongue, and Steve groans, squeezing his cock as that heat and pressure curls low.  He keeps his free hand around Buck’s shaft, holding the man’s dick against his cheek.  His foreskin is so velvety soft, and he smells so good, so erotic, like musk and sex.

“You like having your mouth full?  Like having something to suck on?” Buck asks, wiggling his fingers in Steve’s mouth.  Steve moans around them, sucking hard, and then Buck adds, “You gonna come, baby?”

He might as well have ordered Steve to.  That wave of pleasure crests then crashes over him, and he cries out briefly before going back to desperately mouthing at Buck’s fingers.  He hears Buck praising him quietly, though it’s as though through a fog. 

Steve’s still coming down from his orgasm when Buck gently pulls his fingers away, tracing them along Steve’s bottom lip before stepping away from the hole entirely.  Steve peers through the hole after him, watching as Buck clumsily hikes up his jeans and does up his flies all with one hand. 

And for a brief moment, for the first time in so very many years—since he learned what it was like to trust people with his very life, only to be betrayed and left for dead…  For a brief moment, Steve wishes he could kiss this man, all relaxed and sweet and post-coital.  He wishes they could order dinner, curl up together on the couch and eat pizza, or Chinese, or Thai.  He wishes he could turn on Netflix, and they could cuddle together and watch a movie before bed. 

“Thank you,” Buck says, quiet.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says, closing his eyes.  He’s not sure how he’s going to manage to keep doing this…  “It was my pleasure.”


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind comments and kudos. They mean so much!

A month goes by, and then another, and then another.  The heat of the summer begins to bleed into the chill of fall.  The residents of their sleepy little town pull out sweaters and start indulging in pumpkin spice.

Steve promises himself every weekend he will tell Buck.  He’ll explain that they know each other, or are at least acquaintances.  Then he’ll apologize profusely for not having told him sooner.  He’ll give him the option of continued anonymity; he won’t share his name or how they know each other, just that they do.  He’ll assure Buck that if this is helping him, then Steve will continue to do this for him.   Because Steve can still offer him pleasure, human touch, and understanding from behind the barrier, regardless of the circumstances.

Except Steve has a feeling that upon learning all this, Buck will yank Steve’s plywood hole away from the wall and punch Steve square in the face.  Not that Steve doesn’t deserve it for being a liar and an absolute creep.  But Steve’s seen the size of the man’s right bicep.  He clearly lifts.  He’ll break Steve’s jaw with a right hook.

And anyway, it's all a moot point. Every week when Buck shows up at the hole, well, Steve loses all sense of sanity.  Month after month after month goes by, and Steve says nothing. 

Not about their current situation, at least…  They do say a lot, talk a lot, all while Buck’s flies are undone and Steve’s hands are on his cock.  It’s all surreal in the moment, and fucking ridiculous in retrospect. 

Still, Steve finds himself knowing more about Buck than he knows about most of his friends; though he has to admit that most of his ‘friends’ are just his coworkers.  Plus Sam and Natasha.  And he doesn’t even talk to Sam and Nat that much anymore.

It’s still summer when Buck’s past relationship comes up.  And subsequently, a whole host of body-image and self-esteem issues.

Buck’s just come, and Steve’s licking him clean after, feeling happy and strangely proud of himself.  Proud in the way that only this man makes him.  He’s playing with Buck’s foreskin, rolling it back and forth over Buck’s cockhead as he softens. 

Steve’s old enough to know himself, know what turns him on; he can honestly say he’s never had a fetish for uncut men.  But Buck’s foreskin, like the rest of his cock, is just so fucking _amazing_.  It hugs him just right; Steve can see the shape of his cockhead through it even when the man isn’t erect.  And God, it’s just so velvety soft, moves smooth and slick when Steve fists him.

And it’s while Steve is playing that Buck asks, “That doesn’t bother you?”

Steve honestly has no idea what the man is talking about at first.  He thinks about what he’s doing.  The only thing he can come up with is that he’s licking Buck clean, licking away the last of the sticky, bitter taste lingering on his skin.  So Steve says, “I won’t lie, sweetie, yours has got a bite to it.  But I’m full service.  It turns me on to suck you dry.”

Buck’s silent for a moment, before he barks a sudden laugh.  “No, I meant…”  He trails off with another laugh.  “My jizz has a _bite_ to it?  Fuck, you’re killing me.”

Steve finds himself echoing Buck’s laugh; the sound is contagious.  The puff of heated breath against Buck’s cock makes the other man’s laughter break off into a gasping sigh.  Steve asks, “What did you want me to say?  I get off on swallowing spunk, even when it’s nasty?”

Buck sighs, humor drying up instantly.  “Sorry.  I smoke.  That’s why it’s so bad.”

“No, no, I wasn’t asking for an apology, sweetheart.  You asked if it bothered me—and I’m telling you no, it doesn’t,” Steve says.  Then, with a frown, “Though you should quit smoking.  I’m sure you know that already, but…  You should.”

“I know I should.  I keep telling myself I will.  I _have_ , about three times, but just end up going back to it,” Buck says.  Steve hums to him in reply.

Silence falls for a few moments.  Buck stays at the hole, letting Steve play with cock.  He seems to like this, being gently petted after he’s orgasmed, having that perfect cock worshipped when he’s soft as well as when he’s hard. 

Eventually, Buck speaks up again.

“What I actually meant was…” he begins, sounding hesitant.  “It doesn’t bother you that I’m not circumcised?”

Steve pauses, that question not quite computing.  He realizes he is still idly playing with the man’s foreskin—so soft, so perfect—and he moves his hand further up the man’s shaft.  “Why would that bother me?” he counters.

“Uhm…” Buck begins, seeming to have a hard time coming up with a solid answer.  Eventually, he admits, “My partner, from before, he hated it.  He was always on me to get circumcised, but I dunno…  I never did.  Ha, obviously.”

Steve smiles, though it’s sad.  He’s glad Buck can’t see it.  He immediately goes back to slowly sliding the man’s foreskin back and forth, using it to gently stimulate his cockhead.  “Wasn’t his place to push you to do that,” Steve says, unsure what else _to_ say.

“I know that now,” Buck answers.  “Hell, I think somewhere inside I knew that then, or else I woulda done it.  I just, it’s my body.”

Steve ‘mmm’s his agreement.  This all makes him wonder, makes him think about the way Buck likes to have his cock loved on, his foreskin played with.  It makes Steve wonder what the man’s sex life with this former partner was like, makes him wonder if this asshole ever gave Buck the intimacy he obviously desires.

“He always said it was dirty—put me at risk for STDs,” Buck says.  “I mean, I know most guys nowadays are cut, but…  I know how to clean myself and use a condom, and I just didn’t…””

And the poor guy sounds so fucking worried about it still.  Steve presses a soft, sweet kiss to the tip of his cock, and tells him, “First of all, you’re always clean.  I sure as hell wouldn’t touch you if you weren’t washed good.”

Buck gives him a little laugh.  “Well, I’d hope not.”

Steve chuckles and nuzzles at his shaft.  “And second, he was your partner, you said—doesn’t that mean monogamous?  Why was he worried about STDs?”

There’s a long sigh from the other side of the hole.  “That occurred to me after,” Buck says.  “S’why I got tested for everything, like, _immediately_.  Once things were over.”

“Was he cheating on you?” Steve finds himself asking.

“I honestly dunno.  I mean, all signs point to yes, but I dunno for sure,” Buck says.  He sighs again, and Steve waits, feeling like there’s more that Buck wants to say.  But then, “I can’t really—so much of what happened is still classified.  Or at least, everything is redacted in my testimonies.  I can’t talk about it.”

“What?” Steve asks, completely thrown.  Classified?  Redacted?  _Testimonies_?  Then it occurs to him: “Wait, did your partner have something to do with SHIELD?”

There’s a long silence.  Buck steps back from the hole, doing up his flies as he goes.  He’s wearing his prosthesis today, and Steve catches a glimpse of metal when he peers after him.  Eventually, Buck says, “I shouldn’t have said nothing.  I don’t even know who you really are.”

The man sounds nervous, borderline scared.  It’s not a good tone on him.  A hundred-and-one horrible situations flit through Steve’s head, and he quickly assures, “Hey, I ain’t gonna say anything to anybody.  I don’t know anybody to say anything to—except Nat, I guess.  But I’d never…”

“She already knows.  Everything,” Buck interrupts, then chuckles.  “I get chatty when I’m drunk.”

Steve smiles

“I wasn’t,” Buck begins, before eventually just blurting, “I never knew what they were doing until it was too late…  And I _loved_ that man.” 

The words sound like they’re ripped from him.  Like he’s desperate to say the words aloud.  Desperate to say them to someone besides his family, besides Congress.  Steve swallows, trying to formulate an answer, but then Buck adds…

“But I was just a soldier.  A damn _good_ soldier, but he was a better liar.  There were so many red flags, looking back, but I was fucking blind.”

All Steve knows to ask at this point is: “This guy dead?  Or at least jailed?”

The hollow laugh Steve gets in reply is answer enough, but Buck still says, “People think it’s all over.  That Neo-Nazi group was exposed, SHIELD disbanded, all those politicians and generals locked up.  But they don’t realize how many people turned face at the last minute, managed to scurry away without consequence.”

And of course, Steve had sort of suspected that, but it’s still horrible to hear it aloud.  “Didn’t you implicate him when you testified?” he asks.

“Of fucking course I did,” Buck says, sounding irritated that Steve would even ask.  “But I—,” a pause, as though choosing his words carefully, “I was the only one to do so.  And I was one of the first agents to come forward.  And I dunno if you remember how it was at the beginning, but—it was a Republican Congress, a ‘defend your own’ mentality.  They basically waved me off as being shell-shocked and confused.  Tried to discount everything I said as hallucinations, delusions, you know.  I could go on and on…  I sat for hours, answered so many questions, and left feeling like maybe I _was_ crazy.”

Steve nods, realizing after that Buck can’t see him.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for—don’t need pity,” Buck says.  He clears his throat, then says, “ _I’m_ sorry, I just started wailing about all this.  You ain’t my therapist, you shouldn’t have to listen to this.”

“I’m glad to listen, sweetie,” Steve says. 

And Jesus, he never uses the pet names outside of flirtations, outside of the sex.  He can usually tell when a client will enjoy being sweettalked; it’s why he started calling Buck ‘sweetheart’ in the first place.  Now, though?  ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘sweetie’ and ‘sweet thing’ fall from his lips around this man, unbidden.

“You gotta remember,” Steve reminds him, “I know how it is.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” Buck says.  “I guess…  Guess that’s why it feels safe to talk here.”

Something warm and pleasant curls in Steve’s belly with those words, and it has nothing to do with sex.  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Never felt like I could talk to a therapist,” Buck says.  “Dunno why I just started spewing all this crap… M’real sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Steve says.  “It helps to listen as much as talk, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Buck says.  Then, after a brief moment of quiet, “I guess I should go.”

And Steve wants to argue, wants to tell him he can stay as long as he like, talk as much as he needs.  But instead, he just says, “Alright, sweetheart.  You take care.”

“Yeah, you too.”

~*~

It's a Sunday evening edging toward the end of summer, and Buck lasts a long, long time.  Granted, Steve teases the hell out of him, pulls away anytime he thinks the man might be close, watches with reverence as that gorgeous cock twitches and jerks and leaks precum all over his office floor.

Until Steve miscalculates exactly how close the man is—or maybe it’s just gotten to be too much for Buck—and Steve pulls back to a telltale, sharp intake of breath.  The man’s balls draw up tight, and his cock throbs hard, bouncing up towards his belly.  The first spurt of semen catches Steve right in the face. 

And it’s really a waste.  It’s not as though Buck can see him.  Still, Steve wraps a hand around him quick, thumb rubbing against his frenulum, and leans further in.  Opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, lets the man come across his nose and cheeks and mouth. 

Steve already has a hand down his sweats just idly stroking, but he promptly comes all over himself at the inane fantasy of Buck looking down at him right then.  Of Buck taking his thumb, wiping the cum from Steve’s cheek then pressing it to Steve’s lips.  Of Buck licking Steve clean, then kissing him deep and dirty after…

“Ah, fuck,” Buck breathes after a moment, panting and catching his breath.  One of these days, Steve’s going to tell him to breathe while he’s orgasming.  Usually his mouth is full, though—or this time, open with his tongue lolling out.

“Yeah, sweet thing,” Steve replies, and licks his lips.  “Good?”

“Mmm, always,” Buck says.  “So good, baby.  So damn good…”

Steve smiles, then gets down to licking that pretty cock clean.

“You treat me so good,” Buck rambles.  There’s a little _thud_ from the other side of the barrier, a sound like his head hitting the wood.  “ _So_ good. First guy to suck me off in so long—since fucking basic.  I forgot how much I liked it.”

That makes Steve stop what he’s doing, gears suddenly turning in his mind.  Basic training?  That has to be—Steve doesn’t actually know how old Buck is, of course.  Steve would say early thirties; he has a few soft crows-feet and frown lines, some scattered gray in his dark scruffy beard…  Just that distinct maturity about his face and body.

No longer a boy, wholly a man.

But assuming he’s thirty, that would mean basic training was somewhere between eight and twelve years ago, depending on when he enlisted.  Whether he went right after high school or waited, took some time to work or go to college.  And that’s still…

“What about your partner?” Steve finds himself asking, because he can’t imagine.  He _never_ would have denied a partner that pleasure if they enjoyed it.  Especially not a man who loved him, as Bucky claims he did this partner…

Buck huffs an unamused laugh.  “No, never.  He didn’t like to touch me that way.”

And Steve is just… wholly confused.  “So you didn’t have sex?”

“Of course we did, just—he didn’t touch me _this way_ ,” Buck answers, pressing his hips into the barrier.  His cock bounces a bit in Steve’s face.  “He usually fucked me, or I’d go down on him.  I mean, it was good.  I got off on it.”

Steve has a feeling the man means: _I got myself off._   But he doesn’t comment on it.  Instead, he presses a few kisses to his cockhead, and then tries to lead the conversation in a different direction.  “So you like bottoming, sweetheart?” he asks, privately a little disappointed.  “That what you saying?”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes, his cock giving an interested little twitch.  But then he adds, “Actually, I like topping, too.  _Really_ like it.  But sometimes—sometimes I just wanna lay down and take it.  Depends on my mood, I guess.”

And… Steve’s no longer disappointed.  God, no.  This man is fucking _perfect_ ; at least, not counting the amputation, and the PTSD, and the occasional instances of ED.  But all that is manageable; or as far as Steve’s concerned, inconsequential. 

Steve shares significant life experience, and all of the associated connection and understanding with this man—this man whose quiet, gentle affection is doing _everything_ for Steve.  And now the guy’s going to go and say he’s _versatile_ in the bedroom…

Steve’s done.  Why couldn’t they have met under different circumstances?  Not that he would have been in the mindset to do anything about it even if they had, but still…

“How about you?” Buck asks, while Steve keeps at nuzzling him, one hand massaging his balls.  “What’da you like?”

Heat settles in Steve’s belly.  He wonders idly if he’s going to get hard again.  “I usually bottom, but I’m flexible,” Steve tells him. 

Buck groans quietly in reply, then says, “Oh darlin’, I bet you are.”

Steve chuckles at the innuendo and nuzzles against the man’s cock, mostly soft by now.  He smells so good, still clean but muskier now, like orgasm. 

“What else?” Buck asks, making Steve moan softly.  This sweet, _sweet_ man, so obviously used to being in a relationship—a relationship that sounds one-sided, Buck’s care and attention not returned in the least.

“Mmm, sweetie, I _love_ what I’m doing for you,” Steve tells him.  “Love having you in my mouth, sucking on that gorgeous cock…  Watching you leak precum everywhere.”

Buck sighs, and murmurs, “Baby, you are so good to me.  But you don’t gotta keep up the act anymore—it’s alright.  You turn me on more than enough as it is.”

“It ain’t an act,” Steve tells him, wondering why he would have thought it was.  Then realizes he didn’t say he liked sucking cock, but that he liked sucking Buck’s cock.  _Loved_ sucking Buck’s cock. 

But then Steve’s heart breaks in two.  So Buck thinks Steve’s been acting for his benefit.  Jesus, this _fucking_ man…

“It ain’t an act,” Steve repeats.  “God, you turn me on, sweetheart.  You put that pretty cock through this hole, and I’m hard as a rock.  It’s like a fucking reflex.  Prettiest cock I ever seen—and I’ve seen a few cocks in my day.  Trust me.”

Buck echoes Steve own laughter at that.  “I dunno what to do with you,” Buck murmurs.

And Steve doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just keeps talking.  “I come every time when you do.  Usually.  Or if not when, then after, once you leave.  I get on my bed and fuck myself with a toy till I come, imagine it’s _this_ pretty thing instead…”

Steve runs his fingertips along Buck’s soft cock in emphasis, smiling as it twitches in interest.  Buck groans, and says, “Doll, you’re gonna have me jerking off again before bed.  You’re giving me too much material.”

Steve smiles, nuzzling at him.  “You should.  You deserve to feel good,” he says, feeling inane as soon as he says it.  But still, he means every word.

“Aww, baby,” Buck whispers.  Then his fingers ease through the hole alongside his cock, brushing across Steve’s bottom lip and then up across his cheek.  Buck’s cum has dried tacky on Steve’s skin, and it flakes off under Buck’s thumb.  Buck pauses, thumb lingering, and says, “Did I--?  Shit, baby, m’sorry.”

And God, the man _would_ apologize for coming on his face.  Is probably worried Steve feels degraded, when Steve was the one who wanted it.  Steve turns his head to nip playfully at the man’s thumb, then points out, “Don’t apologize.  I had my hand on you, I was the one aiming.”

“Oh,” Buck says, obviously catching up with what actually happened.  Then, with a little moan, “You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “Came in my sweats—so good, sweet thing.”

Then, to Steve’s complete undoing, Buck says, “Wish I could see you back there.”

Steve has no idea what to say to that, so he just closes his eyes and kisses Buck’s fingers. 

Buck pulls back, doing up his flies within Steve’s line of sight.  Steve sighs, while Buck says hesitantly, “I should go ahead and get home.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve tells him.  “Drive safe.”

“I will,” Buck says.  Then, the words that Steve is beginning to hate: “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

~*~

The first week of September, and Buck’s not at Wednesday night therapy.

Steve is instantly, absurdly worried.  It’s the first time Steve’s ever been there that Buck _hasn’t_ been there, and a million horrible scenarios play in his mind.  He asks a few others if they know anything, trying his best to play it casual, but no one does.  In fact, no one seems to know anything at all about the man…  Aside from Sam.

“It’s not the first time he hasn’t been here,” Sam assures Steve, which makes Steve feel a little better.  Not a lot, but a little.  “He might have just picked up some overtime.  Or he may not be feeling well.  He’s told me he still has a lot of pain…”

Sam gestures idly to the left side of his body, and while Steve didn’t think his heart could hurt any more than it already does for Buck—it's suddenly in agony.

He thinks about texting Natasha; she probably knows if Buck’s alright.  However, texting her will require admitting that he knows who Buck is.  And well, that’s going to be a last resort.

He’ll wait, he decides.  Buck’s not alone.  He has family, or at least a sister.  But if he doesn’t show on Sunday as scheduled…

Steve gets the text Saturday night.

_Prolly not gonna be there tomorrow.  Been sick – Barnes_

Steve frowns, though is quietly relieved.  The guy’s alive, hasn’t done something stupid in a fit a depression.  Thank God…

 **_Im sorry, ill miss u._ ** **_☹_ ** **_Hope u feel better – Steve_ **

Steve assumes that’ll be the end of the conversation.  He’s delightfully surprised.

_Thanks, you’re sweet.  Already doing a little better, just a bad cold – Barnes_

_But I’m still running a fever, don’t wanna get you sick too – Barnes_

Steve doesn’t think the common cold can be contracted through pre-ejaculate or semen, but he doesn’t actually know for sure.  Regardless, the fact that Buck texted _that_ and not ‘I have a cold and I’m running a fever and don’t feel like sex right now’?  Yeah, Steve’s going to die.

 **_Dont worry bout it just feel better.  Lots of sleep tea and chicken soup_ ** **_😴☕️🍲_ ** **_– Steve_ **

_Lol Is that supposed to be a soup emoji? – Barnes_

**_Yes? – Steve_ **

_Bahaha coulda fooled me – Barnes_

Steve stares down at his phone, grinning like an idiot.

_We’re pretty souped out over here – Barnes_

_My sis wants breakfast for dinner.  Think I’m gonna scramble some eggs and fry some bacon here in a bit – Barnes_

And that actually sound really good.  Steve bites his lips, glancing toward his kitchen from where he’s sitting in the living room.  He wonders if he has any eggs that are still good.

 _She’s sick too, I shared.  I’m nice like that_ _😉_ _\- Barnes_

**_Lol sharing is caring – Steve_ **

_Sis might disagree haha – Barnes_

**_Lol she live with u? – Steve_ **

_Yeah.  She goes to school out here and I kinda needed someone when I was back home away from my partner – Barnes_

_I work and cover most of the expenses, she can concentrate on her masters.  And we’re close, we always got along – Barnes_

And they’re talking, Steve realizes.  They’re _talking_.  And not about sex.  Steve is thrumming with happiness.

**_Thats awesome.  Yeah I live alone rite now.  Its hard – Steve_ **

_Wow I dunno how you do that.  I tried it, lasted a week – Barnes_

_Came to at 3AM hiding on my front porch with a steak knife.  Got sent right back to the crazy house – Barnes_

It doesn’t escape Steve’s notice that Buck texted ‘back’ to the crazy house.  He wonders, but doesn’t ask…

**_Damn – Steve_ **

_Yeah.  Better now tho.  Still have bad nights but I always know where I am – Barnes_

**_U got ur family there.  U know ur home – Steve_ **

_Yeah something like that – Barnes_

**_I had a girl when I first came home, was grounding – Steve_ **

**_Better sleeping next 2 someone – Steve_ **

_Well, sis is in the room over, but she’s there.  She understands, wakes me up sometimes, sits with me – Barnes_

_I’m blessed to have her – Barnes_

**_Yeah u r – Steve_ **

_Your girl not around anymore? – Barnes_

Steve has a feeling Buck already knows the answer to this question.  Still, he replies…

**_No we split six months after I got back.  I just wasnt the same man anymore – Steve_ **

**_Hadnt been 4 awhile but I was on assignment mosta the time, we honestly shoulda split be4 – Steve_ **

_Yeah I started off a dumb kid.  Not sure what I am anymore – Barnes_

**_Tho Im grateful she was there for me – Steve_ **

**_Aw sweetie I know I dont know u good but u seem gentle and kind.  Let that be enough – Steve_ **

_😘_ _❤️_ _\- Barnes_

Steve stares at that text for a long time.  Eventually, Barnes continues and they are _talking_ even more…

_You got family around here? – Barnes_

**_No, only child.  Dad died when I was little, mom a year b4 I joined up – Steve_ **

_Oh I’m sorry – Barnes_

**_Its ok – Steve_ **

_My dad died when I was little too.  Was just me, mom, and my two sisters growing up – Barnes_

_I was always trying to be the man of the house lol – Barnes_

**_Lol me 2 – Steve_ **

_The girls didn’t always agree with me on that bahaha – Barnes_

**_Neither did my ma lol – Steve_ **

And God, why did Steve meet this man through his gloryhole?  Why couldn’t he have been brave and asked Buck out a year ago?  They went to the same therapy sessions, Steve has had more than enough opportunity.  And the more he gets to know this man, the more he _wants_.  Their personalities seem to mesh, they very obviously have an understanding from shared experiences, and God…  Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been as sexually attracted to someone in his life. 

They’re a good fit.  There’s no two ways around it.

 _So you done for the evening?_ _😉_ _😜_ _– Barnes_

Steve chuckles as he stands from his couch, heading toward the kitchen. 

 **_Yeah, lol was just thinking bout dinner.  Ur breakfast thing sound good_ ** **_🍳🥓_ ** **_– Steve_ **

_You’re into your food emojis tonight lol – Barnes_

**_🍆_** **_🍆_** **_🍆_** ** _– Steve_**

_Oh God – Barnes_

_I was asking for that – Barnes_

**_Yes u were_ ** **_🤣😘😜_ ** **_– Steve_ **

Steve sets his phone down to rummage in his fridge, grabs the bacon and finds a half-dozen eggs that are still in date.  By then time he’s got everything out and the pans on the stove, Buck’s texted him back. 

_Yeah I’m about to start cooking, might be slow to respond – Barnes_

_It sort of takes my whole attention to work the stove, lost an arm overseas – Barnes_

_Sorry, you prolly didn’t wanna know that. It’s not very sexy – Barnes_

Steve just stares, not quite believing the man just told him that.  Not that he doesn’t already know, but Buck sure as hell doesn’t realize that.  As far as he knows, Steve’s just an eager mouth.  Though Steve’s thinking about all their interactions now, during sex and outside of sex, and he’s beginning to wonder if maybe he’s more—if even to Buck, Steve is more.

But no.  Steve is just projecting.  He has to be.  Buck doesn’t even know his name, how could he possibly have any sort of feelings for him?

Steve texts back…

**_Its alright sweetie.  Ur not the first man ive met who lost a limb – Steve_ **

He gets the text back almost immediately.

_Interesting, Buck’s talking to someone who calls him sweetie – Barnes_

Steve frowns, his stomach sinking to his knees.  He has a feeling he knows who this is, and it’s not Buck.

_Is your name really BeeJay?  Because that is really sad, you should sue your parents – Barnes_

It takes Steve a moment to connect the dots, before he realizes Buck doesn’t know his actual name.  Buck’s saved his number in his phone as BeeJay.  Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and he certainly doesn’t know how to answer.  Luckily, he’s saved by the next text…

_Dammit I’m sorry, that was my sis – Barnes_

_I’m locking my phone now lol, catch you later – Barnes_

**_Np, ttyl_ ** **_😊_ ** **_– Steve_ **

He puts his phone down and gets to cooking dinner, though the conversation doesn’t leave him.

~*~

He gets the text later that same night, long after he’s finished eating.  He’s on the couch watching reruns and playing Candy Crunch, a typical exciting Saturday night, when his phone _pings_.

_Hey.  Sorry again about earlier – Barnes_

_I should know better than to leave my phone sitting open around my sis.  We’re both nosy – Barnes_

**_Its alright_ ** **_😊_ ** **_– Steve_ **

**_Beejay tho? lolol – Steve_ **

_Bahaha_ _😏_ _What can I say?  I thought I was real clever – Barnes_

**_Lol U were real something – Steve_ **

He types in the next text and then sits on it for a long, long time.  For what feels like hours, even though he’s sure it’s just a couple of minutes.  He eventually hits send, his heart pounding.

**_My names steve btw.  Not beejay – Steve_ **

_Yeah?  Steve, I like that – Barnes_

_My name’s Bucky.  Though I think my sis outted me before – Barnes_

And Steve’s heart is still beating wildly, but he’s grinning so wide his face hurts.

**_She said buck, yeah – Steve_ **

_Buck, Bucky, I answer to either – Barnes_

**_Buck, bucky… I like that_ ** **_❤_ ** **_️ - Steve_ **

_Oh doll, I dunno what to do with you_ _❤_ _️_ _😘_ _– Barnes_

Steve has a few ideas, but he keeps them to himself.  And moreover, he’s not sure what he’s going to do with Bucky…

He has a horrible feeling that this is all headed for disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out being a four part fic, but I seem to have gotten a bit verbose lol. Two more parts planned after this.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the angsty climax before the happy ending. One more part after this, unless I decide to do an epilogue as well... Hope you enjoy!

It’s a strange couple of weeks after their Saturday evening text session.

Bucky’s at Wednesday night therapy again the very next week.  He still has the sniffles and a light cough, but he’s trying to be discrete about it.  He has a travel pack of tissues with him to blow his nose and cover his mouth, and it should be gross, _is_ gross, in that way that people with upper respiratory infections are all snot and phlegm.

But Steve’s enamored.  The man’s so damn sweet.  And considerate.  Steve wants to kiss him, illness and all.

Steve’s so far gone…

But the second Sunday of September, Bucky’s silent when he shows up at Steve’s gloryhole.

It’s unusual.  He usually greets Steve with a quiet, shy ‘hello’ before he unzips and eases his cock through the hole.  And not that he’s become really loud in the heat of the moment, but he does usually give Steve _something_ once Steve gets going.  Even if it’s just a ‘yeah babydoll’ or a ‘like that, so good…’

Steve says nothing either, just reaches out to gently pet him, teasing his fingertips up and down his shaft.

Bucky’s dick is soft, and it stays soft.  Still, Steve keeps at it, trying all of his usual moves, all of the things he knows Bucky likes.  He traces the vein on the underside of his cock and plays with his foreskin; he fists him slow with one hand and massages his balls with the other.  Bucky’s cock gives a few interested twitches, but doesn’t harden.

It’s the third time this has happened.  The second time had ended much like the first, with Bucky leaving in a fit of embarrassment.  But Steve’s too invested now to watch this man drive off, emotions frayed and unraveling.  He’s too invested to wait, worrying and imagining the worst, until Bucky finally lets him know he’s home safe.

Steve moves his fingers up as far as the hole allows, brushing through the dark curls framing the man’s dick.  And trying to preempt a meltdown, Steve murmurs, “Hey, sweetheart, it’s alright…”

Bucky grunts in reply, taking a step back.  His hand goes for his flies.

“You okay?” Steve asks, the man’s silence finally registering as what it is.  Anxiety, or maybe depression.  _Something_.

“Yeah, just…  Been a rough couple of days,” Bucky says.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have even bothered coming.”

“Sweetie, no, that’s not…” Steve says, but doesn’t know how to finish that.  Then, a last-ditch attempt to keep the man from leaving, “You don’t have to go.  I’ll keep touching you if that felt good.  Or I can do something else.”

Bucky’s hand pauses at his belt.  “I ain’t gonna ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking, I’m offering,” Steve points out, feeling deja-vu over this conversation.  “I know you like my hands on you—and I’ve got lube back here, if you want…”

There’s silence for a long moment before Bucky says, “Could you…?  I—Nevermind, I should just go.”

“What, sweetheart?  Tell me what you want,” Steve presses, reaching a hand out through the hole.  Bucky takes a step closer, and Steve ends up with his hand curled around a jean-clad thigh.  

Steve can hear the man breathing on the other side.  It sounds harsh and wet, though Steve can’t tell whether it’s lingering congestion or whether the man is on the verge of tears.  Steve gives his thigh a squeeze, and then steps in when it becomes clear Bucky isn’t going to answer.

“You want me to keep touching you?  Stroke your cock, play with your balls?  I know you like my hands on you,” Steve says.  “Or… I’ve got lube back here.  I remember you said you liked to bottom sometimes—would you want my fingers?  I can make you feel good, massage your prostate, hmm?”

“Could you and I just talk?” Bucky blurts, sounding embarrassed for even asking—which breaks Steve’s heart.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve answers.  He gestures idly, aware after-the-fact that Bucky can’t see him.  “If you go back toward the front, but turn left instead of right, you’ll end up in the kitchen.  There’re some chairs, bar stools—you can grab one.”

“Okay, thanks,” Bucky murmurs.

“Hey, and while you’re in there,” Steve calls as the man begins to walk away.  “Grab a couple beers out the fridge.  Or… if you don’t do that sorta thing, there’re some sodas, too.  And water.”

Bucky chuckles low, the first sound he’s made that actually sounds like _him_.  Deep, amused, but still tinged with sorrow.  “I drink,” Bucky says, before his footsteps fall silent.  “I mean, not ‘alcoholic’ drink, but…”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh.  “I getcha,” he says.

And he waits while Bucky grabs a chair, then waits while he goes back for the beers.  Bucky passes one through the hole to Steve, then clears his throat before passing the second one through as well.  “Do you mind, uh, getting this open for me?” Bucky asks, sounding embarrassed once again.  “It’s a twist top—I have a hard time getting those with the, uh, one arm.”

“Oh, no problem,” Steve says, taking it from him.  He pops the top and passes it back, no fuss and no further comment.  But Bucky continues…

“I’ve got a prosthesis, but it doesn’t really help with this.  Metal grip just slides off,” he comments.  Then, with a laugh as he takes the open bottle, “I used to just hold ‘em between my thighs and twist the top with my hand, but I broke a pickle jar a couple a years back doing that.  Squeezed it too hard with my thighs, I guess?  I dunno…  But I ended up with a few stitches way too close to my junk.”

Steve laughs, even as he’s quietly in awe that the man’s able to break glass jars with his thighs.  _Goddamn_ …  “Yeah, I hear you,” he says.  “Don’t want a repeat.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Bucky answers.  Steve listens to him settle down in his chair with a sigh, and then they lapse into an awkward silence.

“Did you want to talk about something in particular, or…?” Steve eventually hedges.

“Uhm,” Bucky begins.  “Do you follow politics at all?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to,” Steve says.  “I mean, I served this country for ten years; what am I gonna do now, just stop caring?  I can’t do that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, quiet.  Almost sad.  Then, “You watching the campaigning?  Election stuff?”

“Mmhm,” Steve replies, wondering where exactly this is going.  “I mean, it’s still early, there’s a lot of candidates.  I dunno everything about everyone but…”

“Alexander Pierce,” Bucky blurts.  “He’s running as an independent—and getting a lot of attention, considering.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Steve says.

There’s a long silence.  Steve can hear the other man breathing unsteadily from the other side of the barrier.  Then, Bucky says, “He was my partner.”

Steve thinks he may fall off his chair and hit his head on his office floor.  He manages to splutter, “ _Wh_ - _what_?!”

“I know, I know.  He’s old enough to be my father,” Bucky says with a sigh.

“I—yes, that was one thought.  But isn’t he married?  Like, to a _woman_?” Steve says.  Though he feels stupid as soon as he says it.  People are bisexual.  Hell, _Steve_ is bisexual.  But this particular situation just seems… odd.

“Yeah, he married the bimbo recently.  She’s all fake tits,” Bucky says.  Then, “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be bitter, it’s just—he’s going to be here next week for a rally, and I just can’t…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.  Then, with a sinking heart, “You still have feelings for him?”

“No,” Bucky answers, resigned.  As though tired by the reply.  “What I did have was…  It’s hard to explain.  My mom always says, ‘Was is it really love if it was built on lies?’” 

He pitches his voice into a woman’s range for the question, and adds a bit of a sardonic tone.  Steve gets the feeling he’s heard that question enough to be exhausted by it.

“And I dunno.  Maybe she’s right.  Doesn’t make this hurt any less, though,” Bucky continues. 

“Mmm,” Steve hums, nodding. 

“I shoulda known,” Bucky says.  “They say hindsight is 20/20, and it really is.  I was always his dirty little secret; he never came out, was too busy fretting about his constituency, about the votes.  I lived with him when I wasn’t on assignment, but it was all very hush-hush.  I was on payroll as his personal bodyguard, for plausible deniability.”

Bucky laughs, though it’s without humor.

“He only kept me around as an ‘in’ to SHIELD,” Bucky continues.  “It’s so damn obvious now.  I never really told him much—and what I did tell him, I always sugar-coated, never told him the whole truth.  I didn’t want him scared for me.  But he always wanted to know things.  Was always asking where I was going to be, what we were going to be doing, you know…  Always made it out to be concern, like he was real worried for my safety.”

Bucky lets out a long sigh, and Steve closes his eyes, heart hurting.  Silence descends for a while, but Steve has no idea what to say.  He just listens to Bucky breathing, the sound wet and unsteady.

“But eventually I saw some things I shouldn’t have, heard some things I shouldn’t have,” Bucky speaks up again.  “I knew _something_ was going on, and it freaked me out.  And I didn’t know what to do.  So I took it to Alex—he was a Congressman, you know?  He was supposed to know who to go to.  I trusted him to know what to do.”

“But he was involved in SHIELD.  And he stabbed you in the back,” Steve finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says.  “Alex said not to worry about it, not to implicate myself in the matter.  He’d handle it, he said.  And my team was already scheduled to go out that same month, so I didn’t think anything of it.  Like I said, I trusted him…”

A long, heavy sigh.

“But then our target destination changed at the last minute,” Bucky says.  “Our CO changed our mission—next thing I know we’re being fired at, three-on-one.  I tried to distract them so the others could get away, but one of my team still got shot down.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, though Bucky plows on as if he doesn’t hear him.

“And I ended up captured by a bunch of Americans,” he says.  “ _Americans_.  I was held and tortured by _Americans_ —and when I finally get home, no one would listen.  Alex says I’m having paranoid delusions and has me thrown in the looney-bin.  And I was too scared to protest at that point.  Too scared and too sick.”

“Jesus,” Steve curses.  This sweet, gentle man had been a POW, had been tortured.  He closes his eyes, swallowing down his own emotion.  Then, because he can’t imagine his mom or sisters would have stood by for any of this, “What did your family do?”

“I can’t blame them,” Bucky says.  “Think about it from their perspective.  Your son, your brother, whatever…  He comes home after being presumed dead for three months.  He’s down an arm and sick as a dog, and he won’t stop babbling about a military conspiracy.  What would _you_ think?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve answers with a sigh. 

“They eventually came around,” Bucky continues.  “I started putting more and more pieces together, realized what had really happened.  Stopped babbling about random Americans torturing me, and started actually pointing out what happened, connecting the dots.  I saw some things I shouldn’t have, and I wound up almost dead.  I _should_ be dead, I just got lucky.”

Steve nods.  He understands that feeling.  “Me too,” he admits.  Then, because he figures honesty deserves honesty, “I understand you, pal.  Me and mine, we were running refugee aid outside a warzone.  A strange assignment in-and-of itself, but we were just happy for a bit of a break.  No guns, no bullets, no fighting—we were fucking celebrating…”

Bucky laughs from the other side of the barrier.  “Right?”

Steve chuckles.  “Yeah, so we didn’t question it.  Maybe we should have, but we didn’t…

“So we’re flying supplies back and forth from base, and then we just get shot out of the sky coming back in.  Right outside of the base.  The _base_ shot us down, our own people, I’m sure of it.  There was no one else there.  I mean, there’s no proving it; video footage was tampered with, and I was the only survivor.  It was my word against theirs.  But _they_ shot us down, killed my men.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve shakes his head.  “You don’t gotta apologize.”

“You survived, though,” Bucky prompts.

“Yeah, I was in the hospital for about a month, then in rehab.  Still got pins holding my pelvis together,” Steve says.  He takes a deep breath to gather himself; his eyes burn.  “Spent a lot of time wondering ‘why me?’  Still wonder, sometimes.  I was the only one that walked away.  Some of those other men had families…”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Bucky says simply.

“Yeah, for sure,” Steve says.  “I crawled out—couldn’t stand on my own two feet.  And I just laid there in the sand by the crash and waited.  Figured troops from the base would be by soon enough to finish the job.  I fell asleep eventually, or passed out from the pain, I don’t know.  But I woke up to a few Marines hauling me out.  I owe them my life.”

They lapse into a melancholy silence for a few moments.  Steve listens to Bucky taking a few swigs from his beer, listens to the rustling of Bucky’s clothing as he repositions himself in his chair.  Eventually, Bucky says, “Yeah, the guys who found me, they were actually a SHIELD team in the area on assignment.  A no-Nazi team, obviously, hmm.  The building I was being held in had been lit on fire.  That SHIELD team broke course to investigate when they saw.  Granted, I didn’t find all this out until after, but…”

Steve feels his stomach flip-flop, because that sounds _so_ familiar.

“I’d been in that hellhole for so long I’d lost track of time.  And I was sick as fuck, confused with it.  But I remember them coming for me—remember this big fuck-off guy in SHIELD gear busting in like some sort of knight in shining armor…

“But all I saw was someone coming for me.  I knew the assholes that’d been holding me were gone; they’d destroyed all their evidence, left me chained down in that chair, and then set the place on fire.  But I figured they’d sent someone back for me, you know?”

And yeah, Steve thinks.  Yeah, he thinks he really does know.

“I fought him, that big fuck-off guy—I didn’t understand what was happening.  And he wasn’t expecting it, I’m almost sure.  He had a knife at his belt, and I remember grabbing it and stabbing him in the shoulder.  And I remember the dumb look on his face, his eyes stupid wide in his stupid helmet.  Yeah, he wasn’t expecting it—he just _let_ me take that knife and attack him.”

Steve closes his eyes, taking his hand and pressing it against his left shoulder.  The scar there is numb, a plain line from the healed-over laceration.  A stab wound from a sick man, too weak to do much besides pierce the skin. 

“I don’t remember much after that,” Bucky admits.  “The guy restrained me, then got some more of his team in there, and they flew me out to the nearest base.  I was in and out the whole time.  Didn’t really come back to myself until I was back home.”

And this isn’t possible, Steve thinks.  He remembers that burning hideout in the middle of the sands, remembers making the executive decision to change course.  There hadn’t been anything marked on their maps for that area; according to their intelligence, they’d been in a dead zone.  He’d landed his team with the concern that there were civilians inside the building, civilians that needed help…

But instead he’d found one lone soldier, half-starved and febrile, chained to what looked like some strange sort of electric chair.  The man’s gear had been layered with months of dirt and grime, but it’d still been recognizable as an infiltrator’s gear.  Someone had removed his vest, guards, boots, and weapons belts; but the pants and shirt had been standard SHIELD-issue.  The eagle insignia had barely been visible underneath the filth. 

Steve hadn’t hesitated before breaking the locks holding him, and then helping him up.  The subsequent knife to his shoulder had been so quiet and smoothly delivered… Bucky’s absolutely right, Steve had just let him take it from his own belt and drive it home.

“So yeah, I owe _them_ my life,” Bucky says.  “Especially that big guy.  He had every reason to shoot me down at that point—I’d attacked him.  But he didn’t.  Don’t know why.  They just got me out of there.”

“You were sick.  And scared.  And confused,” Steve says, even as he’s trying to connect this story to what is happening now.  Because this isn’t possible.  That man Steve had pulled out of that building had been half-dead, shaking with chills, eyes wild with fear.  He’d had both arms, too.  Steve can remember grabbing him by his arms to subdue him after he’d attacked.

Steve can also remember the way the man had howled when he’d done so, the sound pure and unadulterated agony.  And he can remember the way one of his hands had sunk into the flesh too deep as he'd wrestled them to the ground, and the way that hand and the sleeve of the man’s shirt had been soaked in blood and pus both. 

He’d spent a lot of time once Steve had gotten him down repeating his codename and his unit number; things Steve only remembers because he’d had to answer questions about him and his rescue before Congress.  And there were a _lot_ of questions.

Winter Soldier.  Unit 107.

The man had taken a bad turn in the jet once they’d gotten him onboard and gotten in the air.  He’d seized for several minutes, far too long, and he’d had no pulse after.  Their medic had grabbed the defibrillator, and Steve had ripped the man’s shirts apart, baring his chest for the electrodes.  That’s when he’d seen the arm, or at least the upper portion of it. 

That’s when he’d really smelled it, too.  Underneath the overriding stench of stale sweat and body odor, the guy had had this lingering smell of disease on him.  But it had hit like a tone of bricks when Steve had peeled the shirt away from the man’s sticky, oozing shoulder.  One of the other soldiers on their jet had even turned and gagged. 

He can’t remember which arm it had been, right or left, though Steve’s thinking it must have been the left arm.  There had obviously been some sort of wound left untreated, gangrene well set in and climbing up the limb.  Steve’s team hadn’t bothered pulling the rest of the sleeve off to investigate.  They’d been too busy trying to keep him alive. 

Still, Steve had privately thought the man was a lost cause.  They’d had him breathing again, his pulse weak but steady, by the time they’d landed at base; but the man had been _so_ very sick.  He’d opened his eyes one last time when the base paramedics had wheeled him off the jet, but his gaze had been unfocused, more confused than ever.

 _They’ll give him medicine for the pain_ , Steve had thought.  _He’ll die here in peace, not in that building scared and alone and in pain.  His family will know, won’t have to wonder whether he’d dead or alive.  They’ll be able to bury his body, have some closure…_

But apparently Winter Soldier from Unit 107 survived.  And his true name is Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes.

The man’s hair had been brown, Steve remembers that much.  And he’s almost positive those scared, pained eyes had been stormy blue. 

“You were sick.  And scared.  And confused,” Steve repeats, in shock.  “You needed help.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, pausing to take a drink.  “Still, I attacked him.  I’m not sure I woulda been able to stop myself from fighting back if I had been attacked.  It’s instinct to defend yourself, you know?  It’s what we’re trained to do.”

“You were SHIELD,” Steve says.  “You had standard SHIELD gear on.”

“I could been planted there, dressed that way to seem nonsuspect,” Bucky says.  “That guy didn’t know that.”

Steve shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling.  He can feel tears burning his eyes.  He can’t do this anymore…  “As soon as I got you on the ground, you started repeating your codename and unit number.  I knew you were SHIELD.  You had to be.”

“I… Wait, _wh-what?_ ” Bucky stammers.

“Winter Soldier.  Unit 107,” Steve says.  He hears Bucky scramble up out of his chair, and so he reaches a hand out to grab hold of the hole in the plywood, to keep the barrier up against the door. 

“Who the fuck _are_ you?” Bucky snaps, grabbing for the barrier to pull it away.  Just as Steve was expecting. 

“You’re still alive.  _God_ , you’re still alive,” Steve says, smiling through his tears.  There’s something mixing together in his chest now; the feelings for this man he’s been harboring for months, along with the turmoil from that rescue so many years ago.  It’s an emotion so strong it _hurts_. 

Bucky yanks on the barrier again, and Steve jerks it back.

“I didn’t think you would make it,” Steve babbles on.  “I did chest compressions on you in the back of the jet while our medic worked the defibrillator.  I…”

Bucky pulls hard on the barrier again, and again, and again.  Steve finally relents, and the plywood gets torn out of Steve’s hand and thrown away from the door.  It bangs against the far wall, further stressing the difference here: Bucky’s strength and spirit now, compared to the sickness and weakness from before.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, looking up into the man’s blue-gray eyes.  Bucky stares down at him, expression a mix of bewilderment and disbelief.

Though Steve sees the moment it changes to shock and panic.  “Y-you!” he squawks, pointing.  “Fucking hell…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve tries.  “Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Bucky says, shaking his head and backing away.  “You sat next to me in group.  You’ve sat next to me for years.  Did _you_ know?  Did you fucking _know_?”

Steve nods, watching as Bucky’s eyes begin to water.  He quickly clarifies, “I mean, I knew you were the one here.  On Sundays.  I didn’t know you were him…  Winter Soldier.  I didn’t know that.”

“But you knew,” Bucky says.  “You sat there knowing you’d just…  That we’d…  That I’d…  _I_ didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats. 

“No,” Bucky says, starting to back away.  The heel of his boot hits the beer bottle he’d set on the floor, and it tips, spilling. 

Steve stands, which only makes Bucky back away faster.  And even scrambling to get away, he’s strangely graceful.  He still moves like a spy, an infiltrator.  Apparently losing the arm hasn’t affected his balance or mobility; or rather, he’s overcome those hardships in leaps and bounds. 

“I can’t…” Bucky says, before he turns and flees.  Steve follows after him, watching as he throws himself down the hall toward the front door.

“Wait, Bucky!” Steve calls.  “Don’t go, _please_.”

Bucky piles into his old VW and speeds out of the neighborhood, while Steve hangs in the open doorway and watches in despair.

~*~

**_Hey can u just lmk ur ok? – Steve_ **

**_Just pls lmk u made it home ok pls? – Steve_ **

**_I know ur upset & I dont blame u.  Im sorry – Steve_ **

**_But im worry just pls lmk ur ok – Steve_ **

**_Pls buck im real worried – Steve_ **

_Jesus dude I’m fine – Barnes_

**_O thank fuck – Steve_ **

_And I’m not upset.  That’s not really it – Barnes_

_This was just a lot at once – Barnes_

**_Im sorry – Steve_ **

_I need some time – Barnes_

**_Ok – Steve_ **

_Please don’t text me again – Barnes_

**_Dont *ever* text u again? Or just u need some time? – Steve_ **

_I dunno, I’m sorry – Barnes_

_But thank you for what you did.  I’m alive because of you and your men – Barnes_

_I’m not ungrateful.  Please don’t think that – Barnes_

**_Sweetheart I know – Steve_ **

**_Im just happy ur ok – Steve_ **

_I think I just need some time – Barnes_

_Please don’t text me again – Barnes_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, they're loved and appreciated! ❤️❤️❤️


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos on the last part, I'm blown away by the response! You guys are so kind. <3
> 
> There'll be one more part after this. The conclusion is turning out longer than expected, so I'm splitting it up & getting this part out now. Last part will hopefully be out in the next couple of weeks. Thanks for reading!

Steve gets the text three days later, on Wednesday.

It’s been three days of insane distraction, of paralyzing anxiety and sleepless nights.  Steve’s at work laying foundation for new housing.  He’s trying his best to focus, but he’s been making careless mistakes that are costing them time and money.  His coworkers are irritated with him, he can tell, but he can’t find it in himself to care.  His mind is elsewhere.

He grabs his phone from his back pocket, praying that it’s Bucky.  He’s disappointed… momentarily. 

_So you’re Cap America – Nat_

_What a fucking codename – Nat_

Steve frowns, sitting down on some stacked brick.

**_My bday is July 4, someone thought they were real funny – Steve_ **

_Lol – Nat_

_I actually wanted to thank you – Nat_

_James isn’t blood but he’s as good as family to me, and your team brought him home – Nat_

**_I was just doing my job – Steve_ **

_No you went above and beyond.  Thank you – Nat_

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that.  He doesn’t feel like he did anything more than was expected.  Sure, they’d changed course to investigate, but part of being SHIELD was having the ability to assess the situation and adapt.  He hadn’t fought back when Bucky had attacked him, but Bucky clearly hadn’t been a threat, had only been confused and on the defensive.  And of course they’d worked tirelessly to keep him alive; no one on Steve’s team had even suggested doing otherwise… 

**_He tell u wat happened? – Steve_ **

_Yeah.  And I’m sorry – Nat_

_If I’d known you already knew him I never would have sent him to you – Nat_

**_He angry? – Steve_ **

_With me?  Yeah lol.  Thinks I did it on purpose – Nat_

_Still trying to convince him I didn’t know – Nat_

**_And u really didnt – Steve_ **

_He never told me he went to sessions at VFW – Nat_

_And you didn’t either.  So no I didn’t – Nat_

Steve sighs, running a hand over his face.  He doesn’t have the right to talk to Natasha about this, doesn’t have the right to know about Bucky anymore.  But he’s finding that he’s weak when it comes to this man.

**_Is he doing ok? – Steve_ **

_He’s a survivor, he’ll be ok – Nat_

**_Yeah – Steve_ **

_I shouldn’t tell you this but…  He’s a sensitive man, feels deep, loves easy – Nat_

Steve closes his eyes.  He’s going to end up crying in public, in front of these other construction workers.  He can’t do that.

**_I never meant 2 hurt him – Steve_ **

_That’s what I’m saying, it’s not just you – Nat_

_We had a long talk about what he wanted before I ever gave him your number – Nat_

_He said wanted casual, no relationships, just something easy – Nat_

_But I should have known.  He doesn’t do casual – Nat_

**_Really? – Steve_ **

_Yeah, and I’m sorry I should have known – Nat_

**_Known what? – Steve_ **

_That he wasn’t just looking for sex – Nat_

No, Steve suddenly realizes.  The man hadn’t been looking for sex.  He’d been looking for intimacy, been _craving_ it.  He’d wanted affection from another man, wanted to feel desirable, wanted to feel loved; even if it was a farce from behind a piece of wood.

And Steve’s heart is beating an unsteady staccato inside his chest.  Does that mean they’ve been on the same page this entire time?  Has it been more than just sex for Bucky, too?  God…

**_R u saying he has feelings for me? – Steve_ **

_I think so – Nat_

_Don’t worry tho, he’ll be ok.  If he can get over Alex he can get over this – Nat_

Steve takes a deep breath, steeling himself.  Then he texts…

**_Wat if I dont want him to get over it? – Steve_ **

_??? – Nat_

**_Maybe he found what he was lookin for – Steve_ **

_What are you saying? – Nat_

**_Maybe it ws more than sex – Steve_ **

**_4 me 2 – Steve_ **

_You text like a child – Nat_

**_Lol – Steve_ **

_I thought you didn’t do relationships? – Nat_

**_Wen did I say that? – Steve_ **

_You didn’t, I just assumed considering – Nat_

**_U know wat they say bout assuming – Steve_ **

_Haha – Nat_

_Seriously tho? – Nat_

**_Maybe it was hard 2 b close to someone after everything – Steve_ **

**_Specialy someone who doesnt know what its like – Steve_ **

_I understand that – Nat_

**_But he does more than any1 – Steve_ **

_You’re saying you have feelings for him too? – Nat_

Steve sets his phone down on a thigh for a moment and rubs his hands over his face.  Might as well be honest…

**_I cant stop thinkin bout him – Steve_ **

**_I couldnt stop thinkin bout him even b4 I knew who he was – Steve_ **

_Wow – Nat_

**_Hes so sweet & gentle, never realizd thats wat I wanted but I do – Steve_ **

**_And dam hes hot as hell – Steve_ **

_Have you talked to him about this? – Nat_

**_No he asked me not 2 text him anymore – Steve_ **

_Oh, he didn’t mention that to me – Nat_

_Then can I show him this? – Nat_

_Or at least tell him – Nat_

**_I dunno – Steve_ **

**_I dont want 2 upset him – Steve_ **

**_Or make him uncomfortable – Steve_ **

_He needs to hear it, trust me – Nat_

Steve bites his lip, and finally relents with a sigh.

**_Ok if u think so – Steve_ **

**_But Im not goin 2 text him, he askd me not 2 & Im not goin 2 – Steve_ **

_Respect him, that’s a good start – Nat_

_Just give him some time – Nat_

**_Yeah ok – Steve_ **

_And thank you isn’t enough for what you did but… – Nat_

_Thank you for bringing him home to us – Nat_

**_Part of the job – Steve_ **

_Who knows, maybe you saved the man who’s going to end up making you fat and happy – Nat_

_Pretty insane – Nat_

~*~

By  Friday, everyone on the job is just about done with Steve.  His boss gives him a ‘talking-to’ at noon; tells him he doesn’t know what’s going on, but to take the rest of the day and the weekend to get his shit together.

Which is how Steve finds himself stretched out on the couch Friday afternoon, doing his best to take a nap.  He still hasn’t been sleeping at night, has had maybe 10 hours total over the past five days.  And when he does manage to fall asleep, he usually jerks awake not long after shaking and sweating from nightmares. 

The nightmares are vivid things, all different but centered around that same day, that same rescue.  He dreams of Bucky in the chair, but Steve hasn’t made it in time.  He finds Bucky dead instead; sometimes his body burnt in the fire and unrecognizable, sometimes his body whole but his eyes open and unseeing. 

He dreams that he _had_ defended himself with lethal force; that instead of subduing Bucky, he’d pulled his pistol from his thigh and unloaded it into the man’s chest.  He dreams that another agent had followed Steve into the room, and that they’d opened fire when they’d seen Bucky turn on Steve. 

He dreams of Bucky passing away under his hands in the back of the jet.  He dreams that they hadn’t been able to revive the man when he’d coded.  He clearly hears his medic’s voice call time of death, and feels arms dragging him away: he won’t stop performing chest compressions.

The worst part of it all?  Bucky always looks like he does now, like the man Steve has come to associate with understanding and tenderness and goodness.  He looks strong and beautiful and healthy, his hair long and soft, his skin and clothes clean.  His left arm is already gone. 

Steve never wants to sleep again, never wants to see the things he sees while his eyes are closed.  But by now he’s running solely on fried nerves and stale caffeine.  He has a persistent headache, his eyes burn, and his hands constantly shake.

He doesn’t want to sleep, but he _needs_ to sleep.  So he tries to nap.

Then at 5PM, his doorbell rings. 

He stumbles up off of the couch, rubbing at his eyes then scratching his ass as he goes to answer.  He tries to think of who it might be.  Maybe a delivery, UPS? 

But when he opens the door, it’s not the mailman.  Rather, it’s Bucky standing on his front steps, dressed in black slacks and a collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearm and prothesis.  He’s fidgeting, obviously nervous, but he openly meets Steve’s stunned gaze.

“H-hey!” Steve blurts, all at once ecstatic and terrified.  He pulls at his rumpled t-shirt, very aware that he’s dressed in a pair of sweats and an old, threadbare shirt.  At least he’d showered when he’d first gotten home.

“Hi,” Bucky answers, soft and shy. 

“You, uh, you look real nice,” Steve says, sounding dumb even to his own ears.  Still, Bucky smiles a little.

“Thanks.  You, well…”  Bucky frowns at him.  “You look real tired.”

Steve laughs, taking a step back to let Bucky in.  “Yeah, uh, thanks.  You wanna come in?”

“I can come back some other time if…” Bucky starts, even as Steve is ushering him in.  “I should have called, but I was afraid I’d lose my nerve.  Just came straight from work.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve says, closing the door behind them both.  Then, “Straight from work?  That’s why you’re dressed all smart.”

Bucky looks down at his shirt, one flesh-and-blood hand and one metal appendage smoothing the fabric over his chest.  “Yeah, uhm, office job,” he says.

“Ah,” Steve answers, closing the door behind them.  His hands are shaking, though now he doesn’t know whether it’s from over-exhaustion or from nerves. 

When he turns back to Bucky, he finds the man silently watching him with those pretty blue eyes, his hand nervously fiddling with his robotic fingers.  And like usual when around this man, Steve’s two working synapses stop firing…

“I work construction,” Steve says awkwardly. 

“I figured it was something like that,” Bucky says, gesturing pointlessly.  “You got that big truck out front with all the tools.”

“Yeah,” Steve says nodding. 

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence.  Finally, Bucky speaks up, “Natasha texted me last night.”

“Oh,” Steve says.  “Did she…?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, then takes a deep breath.  He exhales hard, closes his eyes for a moment.  Then, “I’m sorry—for just running out the other day.  I just…  Sometimes I still don’t cope with things as well as I wish I did.”

“No, no,” Steve says, shaking his head.  Dear God, why is this man apologizing to _him_?  “You don’t owe me an apology—I need to apologize to you.  I should have told you as soon as I realized…”

“Yeah, you should have,” Bucky interrupts, frowning.  “But you told me that you—you were the one who came for me.  You and your men.  You saved my life—literally saved my life.  And I ran out of here without telling you how much that meant to me.  I’m so sorry for that…  You made sure I got back home to my family, and there’s nothing I can say or do to thank you enough.”

Steve’s eyes burn while Bucky speaks; he’s fighting tears with everything he has.  Meanwhile, Bucky’s stormy blue eyes are watery, tears waiting to spill.  And Steve can’t help himself, “Can I hug you?  Please?”

Bucky nods desperately, and so Steve opens his arms up, accepting Bucky into them.  The man is solid and warm against his body, and his whiskers tickle when he drops his chin against Steve’s shoulder, tipping his face into Steve’s neck.  He smells so good, like warm and spicy cologne, something obviously complementing the natural scent of his skin. 

Steve idly wonders what brand of fragrance he wears.  It’s _really_ nice, sexy—though at this point, Steve thinks _everything_ about the man is sexy.

Even this, the way Bucky is subtly wiping his eyes when they part.  _He’s a sensitive man, feels deep, loves easy,_ Natasha had said.  Steve has never realized it, but that’s all he wants.  A gentle, loving, compassionate man to spend his days with, to talk to and laugh with and love on…

“Do you want to sit down?  We can talk,” Steve says, having to wipe at his eyes as well.  His cheeks are wet. 

Bucky nods, giving him a little smile.  “Yeah,” he answers.  “That’s what I was hoping for.”

And so Steve shows him to the living room, sits him down on the couch.  Gets them both beers out of the fridge, sure to twist the top off of Bucky’s before he hands it to him.  “I’m glad you came,” Steve tells him, settling in next to him on the couch. 

“Me, too,” Bucky says.  Then, “I need to ask you…”

“Of course,” Steve says, interrupting.  “Anything.”

Buck trails off, raising a brow.  “I didn’t even finish,” he points out.  “I could have been gonna ask you to kill a man.”

“Well, you weren’t,” Steve says.  “But I mean, if you had a good reason…”

Bucky smirks at him, amused.  “Noted,” he says.  “But what I was gonna say…  I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course,” Steve says, doing his best to smile encouragingly.

“When, uhm, when did you realize?” Bucky asks.  “Realize that it was me?”

“Oh,” Steve says, taking a deep breath.  Straight to it.  “Not at first.  And I really never knew you were _you_.  You look nothing like the man I pulled out of that hideout—I mean, same hair color but…”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.  I’ve seen the photos, I know what I looked like,” Bucky says with a sad little smile.

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “And I never tried to look you up after…  I dunno, I was almost sure you hadn’t made it, and I guess I didn’t want confirmation?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bucky says with a wry grin, and Steve squares his shoulders off, about to get defensive.  Bucky has to realize how bad off he’d been!  But then Bucky is shaking his head and rolling his eyes.  “Jesus, settle down, it was a joke,” he says.  “You have no chill, do you?”

“Sorry,” Steve says, sheepish.  “I guess I’m a little on edge.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Bucky answers, shifting a bit on the couch.  Then, “I did look you up after.  Or at least, found out your codename and unit number.  You’d already been honorably discharged at that point—I couldn’t find out much more information, just that you’d been injured in the line of duty and honorably discharged.  I figured at that point you’d gotten out, probably didn’t wanna hear from me.”

“I woulda _loved_ to hear from you,” Steve says, fierce and true.  He reaches out without thinking, hand finding Bucky’s forearm.  The man shivers and looks down at the point of contact, but doesn’t pull away.  Steve continues, “It’s that—this, that makes it all worthwhile.  I’ve struggled trying to come to terms with that fact I’d worked for those people for so many years.  But we helped people, we saved lives.  Innocent lives…”

“And I’m innocent?” Bucky asks.

“Of course!” Steve replies, confused by the question.  “You weren’t one of _them_.”

“I killed for them,” Bucky says.

“So did I,” Steve counters.

“It seems like you mostly did support and rescues, though.  You were _always_ the fucking knight in shining armor,” Bucky says.  “I was, though…  I was fucking Deadshot.  Me and my team, we obtained information, took out assigned targets.  We were just glorified hitmen.”

Steve shakes his head.  “The blame lies with the people who gave you the orders.”

Bucky sighs, gaze sliding away and to the floor.  “Maybe.  Doesn’t make it better.  Doesn’t make me stop seeing it all when I lie down at night,” he says.  “It’s been over four years since I’ve been back in the states, I been out of the facility for three years.  I thought I’d be better by now; thought I’d be good, or at least ‘okay’…”

“I don’t think there’s a timeline for ‘better’,” Steve says, smiling sadly.  Bucky meets his gaze.  “I think it’s a continuous process.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bucky replies.  “It just still seems like I’m not doing good enough.”

And Steve wants to lean over and kiss him; on the cheek, on the forehead, and the lips.  He wants to tell him that he’s kind and beautiful, and that he is _more_ than good enough.  But instead, Steve says, “We all do the best we can.”

Bucky nods, before shooting Steve a shy little grin.  “We got sorta off track,” he says.  “When, uhm, when did you realize it was me?  Here?”

“Oh,” Steve says.  That’s right, there’d been a question.  “Yeah, I, uh…  It was a few weeks in.  I never look out of that hole, _never_.  But when you got upset, I looked.  I saw your prosthesis and your hair, put the pieces together pretty fast.”

“When I got upset?” Bucky asks, frowning.

“Yeah…” Steve says, trailing off sheepishly.  _Please don’t make me say it_ , he thinks.  _I don’t want to embarrass you._

“Ah, I see,” Bucky responds after a moment, blushing scarlet.  And with a self-deprecating laugh, “What, had to see how old I was?”

Steve rolls his eyes, shaking his head.  “No, I was worried about you,” Steve says, truthful.  “Nat had told me you were a vet, and I’d seen your tattoo.  I figured something was wrong.”

Bucky nods, face still flushed in embarrassment.  “I was so worried about that happening,” he says, not meeting Steve’s gaze.  And it’s so quiet, Steve has to lean forward to hear him.  “It’s why I didn’t just find someone; you know, didn’t pick someone up in a bar or find a fuckbuddy or something.  I mean, one of many reasons—like I would have ever had the nerve to walk into a bar and hit on someone…”

Bucky trails off with a chuckle and a shake of his head, pausing to take a swig of beer. 

“I used to do it all the time,” Bucky says.  “Would bar crawl every weekend when I was young—before I met Alex.  My friends used to joke about what my ‘flavor of the month’ was…  Feels like a lifetime ago.  Now just talking to another man terrifies me.”

“Is this…?” Steve asks.  “Is talking to me scaring you?”

“Not as much as you might think,” Bucky says, meeting his gaze with a wry grin.  “What’s to be scared of?  You already know all my dirty secrets.  Just kinda embarrassing, I guess…”

And Steve doesn’t even know what he means by his ‘dirty secrets’.  The ED they were just talking about is understandable, a natural physical reaction to anxiety and stress.  As for the other things—his capture and torture, putting his trust in the wrong place, the mental institution, and his current health, both mental and physical, what he’s done now looking for sex and affection…

Steve understands.  He knows the feeling of innate wrongdoing, even when you know rationally that none of it was your fault.  He knows the feeling of defectiveness, uselessness, an inability to ever recover.  He knows the feeling of desperate want, coupled with the intense fear of rejection.  He knows it all.

So Steve moves his hand down, fingers skating down the bare skin of Bucky’s forearm until they’re hand in hand.  Bucky doesn’t pull away, only stares down at their hands as Steve gently entwines their fingers.  “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, watching as Bucky’s eyes snap up to meet his gaze.  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about in front of me.”

Bucky gives him a sweet little smile.  “I’d said once that happened, I’d just stop coming—”  He pauses with a hysterical little laugh, obviously amused at his own inadvertent wording.  “—sorry.  No pun intended.  I just didn’t think I could face you again once you realized I had a limp dick…”

“You don’t… have a limp dick,” Steve blurts, interrupting.  The sentence becomes squeakier and more awkward with each word.

Bucky opens his mouth as though to counter that, before shooting him a shit-eating grin.  “Damn,” he comments.  “You blush like you’re a fucking virgin…  If I didn’t know you sucked cock all afternoon, I’d swear it was a lie.”

And yeah, Steve’s face feels like it’s on fire.  “It’s my skin tone, I flush easy,” Steve says, which isn't a complete lie.  But _this_ is all Bucky.  Steve feels like he’s sixteen-years-old again, holding hands with a guy for the first time.  Plus, Bucky’s cheeks are the cutest shade of pink Steve’s ever seen, so Steve doesn’t think the man has any room to talk.

Bucky shakes his head, and continues with his prior train of thought.  “Anyway, it’s why Nat sent me to you,” he says.  “She said you’d be behind the barrier, it wasn’t like a regular hook-up.  We wouldn’t be able to see each other.  I could just leave and end things if it got to be too much, no strings attached, no questions asked.

“But then you had to go and ask questions.  And be so fucking understanding about fucking everything.  And you say everything I wanna hear, and do everything I ever wished anyone would do.  I didn’t even know who you were, and I…”

“I…” Steve starts, unsure how to respond to that, but Bucky shakes his head, reaching over with his prosthesis to set his beer on the coffee table.  He pulls his hand away from Steve’s then, twisting to reach into the pocket of his slacks and grabbing his cellphone.  He taps the screen, scrolling through, before turning it around and handing it to Steve. 

“I need to know,” Bucky says, while Steve looks at the phone screen.  It’s a text conversation between Bucky and Natasha.  Bucky finishes, “I need to know if this is true.  And don’t fucking shit me if it’s not—tell me you were just sweettalking me, and I’m confusing a few good blowjobs with…”

Steve scrolls through the texts:

_I fought next to you, I cried for you, I went to your memorial you know – Natalia_

**_I told you to leave it – Bucky_ **

_He and his team brought you home, I had to thank him – Natalia_

**_Fine. But you didn’t have to discuss him swallowing my spunk every weekend – Bucky_ **

_We didn’t discuss that, but nice to know he’s not a quitter_ _🍆_ _😉_ _– Natalia_

**_Jesus why does everyone love that emoji so much??? – Bucky_ **

_We just discussed that maybe you’d been looking for more than sex – Natalia_

**_I wasn’t – Bucky_ **

_Maybe without realizing it you were – Natalia_

_You were looking for intimacy.  Been looking for a really long time I think – Natalia_

_I also think you found it with him, but now you’re too afraid to do anything about it – Natalia_

**_You don’t know what you’re talking about.  It’s why I told you to leave it – Bucky_ **

_I think I do – Natalia_

_You know what he told me? – Natalia_

_He said he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you – Natalia_

**_You’re lying – Bucky_ **

_When have I ever lied to you? – Natalia_

_He said you were gentle and sweet, and that’s what he wanted in a man – Natalia_

_Said you were very hot too_ _🔥🔥🔥_ _– Natalia_

**_Just stop – Bucky_ **

_I’m just saying I think you should talk to him – Natalia_

Steve stops there, deciding he’s seen enough.  Even though Bucky had handed him the phone, he still feels as though he’s invading the man’s privacy reading the conversation.  He meets Bucky’s gaze, the other man’s expression hesitant and desperate, and murmurs, “Yeah, Buck, that’s almost exactly what I told her.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Bucky answers, sounding somehow both hopeful and inconsolable at the same time.  It breaks Steve’s heart. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not,” Steve says.  “I wanna—I want to get to know you better, and just sit with you and talk to you and…  We could go see a movie, and I’ll take you out to dinner, somewhere small and quiet.  I dunno if you’re like me, but those places that get real loud and busy bother me.”

And Bucky’s smiling at him now, all wide and shining, none of the hesitation from before to be found.  “Yeah, me too,” he agrees, nodding.  “Places like that make me nervous.”

Steve returns Bucky’s smile, reaching for Bucky’s hand with both of his own.  Bucky tangles their fingers together again, and Steve holds on, keeping that hand between both of his own.  “I wanna…” Steve begins again, and can feel himself blushing before he even gets the words out.  “I wanna see you when I’m sucking you.  Wanna see your face when you come, wanna look you in the eye; want you to put your hands on me, hold my head or pet my hair or…”

“God, baby,” Bucky breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand.  “Yeah, me too.  I wanna—fuck, I wanna return the favor real bad.  Been thinking about it for so long.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, heat unfurling in his belly.  He’s smiling so hard his face hurts.  “Oh, sweetie, I want that, too.  I want everything.  I want a bed, wanna feel you inside me…” 

Steve trails off while Bucky curses; and before he gets into all the nasty things he wants to do with this man, maybe he should go back to square one. 

“Bucky, I wanna kiss you,” he says.  “Can I kiss you?  Please?”

Bucky nods urgently, and so Steve curls his free hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and guides their lips together.  Their knees bump and their thighs brush as they scoot closer together, and Steve feels Bucky’s prosthesis come to rest against his hip.  The kiss ends up as just a chaste, dry press of lips, but it still sends shivers up Steve’s spine. 

There’s a hairsbreadth of a pause when they part, their gazes flitting from mouth to eyes then back down.  Their noses bump when they lean back in, both of them clumsy as they find each other’s mouths again.  Bucky’s lips are soft and plush, while his whiskers tickle.  His breath smells like cinnamon, warm against Steve’s skin.

They share two more soft, tentative kisses before they pull back.  Bucky grins at him, his eyes watery, his expression a little shy.  It’s a mirror demonstration of what Steve if feeling, and it makes him laugh a little, the sound bubbling up from inside.  Bucky’s grin widens, and he squeezes Steve’s hand where it’s still held between them.

“Will you stay tonight?” Steve asks before he really thinks about it.  Bucky’s smile falls, and so Steve flounders, “We don’t have to do anything, not if you don’t want to.  I was just thinking we could order in some dinner, maybe watch a movie or something.  And I’m sure I’ve got an extra toothbrush…”

“It’s not that,” Bucky says.  “It’s just Becca, my sister, she was expecting me home like… fifteen minutes ago.”

And Steve wants to say, _Just call her and tell her you won't be home until tomorrow._   Except Steve gets it, he really does.  The man has hang-ups, has baggage.  Hell, Steve does too.  And if Bucky feels like he needs to sleep in his own home, needs to be with his family at night, well…  That’s baggage Steve can work with.

“Maybe,” Steve tries, hopeful.  “Then maybe just stay for a little while longer?”

Bucky’s silent, considering him, before he cautiously asks, “Maybe you could—maybe come back home with me?”

Steve smiles wide, nodding immediately.  “Yes, yes!” he assures.  “As long as your sister is okay with that…”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” Bucky says, grinning.  “She’s been trying to get me to start dating again for years.”

Steve chuckles, letting go of Bucky’s hand as he stands from the couch and stretches.  “Let me just change, put some jeans on before we leave,” Steve says. 

Bucky nods his agreement.  But it isn’t until later, when they’re piling into Bucky’s VW, that Steve gathers up the gumption to ask…

“Is that what we’re doing now?  Dating?”

Bucky looks over as he starts up the engine.  “Isn’t that what you call getting to know someone you’re interested in?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits, grinning.  “Yeah, I guess so.”


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part! Yay! Thank you all so much for your kind comments and kudos throughout. It's really kept me motivated.
> 
> I may include an epilogue eventually, or a separate one-shot. No promises, just a maybe. ;)

They pick up dinner on the way to Bucky’s place.  Pizza: two meat-lovers for Steve and Bucky, a veggie for Becca, plus some cheesy-bread and cinnasticks.  Then Bucky texts Becca as they leave the pizzeria, letting her know they’re on their way home with food.  She texts him back about five times, the phone _pinging_ repeatedly.  Bucky doesn’t answer her, and Steve doesn’t ask. 

Steve also doesn’t ask when Bucky swings by Walgreens.  The man murmurs a quick explanation—' _I just need to grab a couple things, I’ll be right back’—_ and leaves Steve in the car with the pizzas.  He’s back in just a few minutes, one bag in hand.  Steve can see the box of Trojans through the white plastic, and a swarm of butterflies is set free inside his stomach.

Becca is waiting for them in the living room when Bucky lets them in through the garage door.  She leaps up off the couch, setting her laptop down on the coffee table, and rushes to greet them.  “Hey!” she says, sliding up beside Steve as he sets the pizzas on the kitchen counter.  “You must be the infamous BeeJay.” 

“Becca,” Bucky warns, dropping the Walgreens bag on the coffee table.  “Leave him alone.”

“It’s, uh, it’s actually Steve,” Steve tells her.

“Oh?  Well, you look familiar,” she says, effectively ignoring Bucky. 

“He’s ex-SHIELD,” Bucky tells her, wandering into the kitchen.  “You may have seen him when we were in D.C.  Steve, you want another beer?  Or want a soda?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Steve answers.

Meanwhile, Becca squeals, “Ex-SHIELD?  Like you?  And he’s from around here?!  Oh my God…”

Bucky shoots her a look, while Steve chuckles.  “Well, I _live_ here now,” he offers.  “I’m from Brooklyn.”

“No!” Becca says, scandalized, before turning to stare at Bucky. 

Bucky looks at Steve with raised brows.  “You lost your accent,” he comments, handing Steve a Guinness from the fridge. 

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “Been away from home for too long.”

Bucky nods, while Becca fills a paper plate with pizza.  “Yeah, me too,” Bucky says.  “I get it back in just a few days, though, going back to visit Mom in Red Hook.  Both of us do.”

“Red Hook?” Steve asks, disbelieving.  Bucky raises his eyebrows, asking without words, and Steve nods. 

Becca laughs, taking her pizza and soda back to the couch.  “Jesus, only you, Buck,” she says.  “You find the one other guy from Red Hook out here in Bumfuck, Indiana.  And he’s ex-SHIELD, too…”

“You have no idea,” Bucky murmurs, and shares a soft, private smile with Steve.

“Oh, did you get me my things?” Becca asks, spotting the Walgreens bag on the coffee table.

“No, no, I got those yesterday.  They’re in your bathroom,” Bucky says, almost dropping his plate on the floor in his haste to get over to her.  But it’s too late.  She’s already picked the bag up and peered inside.  It’s hard to say which of the three of them blushes the hardest.

“Oh, dear,” she says, a little giggle bubbling its way out of her.  She gives Bucky a sheepish grin as he snatches the bag from her.

“Don’t,” Bucky tells her, before disappearing into the back of the house.

Steve laughs awkwardly, filling up a plate for himself.  His face feels hot, and he knows he’s red-faced.  Except he figures Bucky knew from the start that his sister was going to be here.  And he and Bucky are both consenting adults; they’re just going to have a quiet dinner, hang out for a while, _maybe_ spend the night together.  Nothing sordid or tawdry.

They’re about to eat and watch TV, not fuck in the middle of the living room.

Steve grabs his plate and his beer, heading for the living room, but is preempted by Becca.  She stomps up into space, shoulders thrown back and head held high; her silly grin is long gone and replaced instead with a glare hard as steel.  And while she may be half his size and over a head shorter, she’s clearly not intimidated by him in the least.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” she hisses, sticking a finger into Steve’s chest.  “And whatever it is, it’s fine.  He wants to have a little fun?  Well, he deserves to have a little fun.”

“It’s not…” Steve begins, trying to come up with something, _anything_ to stop this.

Becca talks over him.  “But if you hurt him?  He has been through hell already.  And so if you hurt him?  In any way?  I will make it so you wish you were dead.”

“It’s not like that,” Steve says in a hurry.  He scrambles for something to say, for a way to explain without giving away too much.  “I’ve gotten to know him some and I—I really care about him.”

Becca doesn’t reply, just frowns at him, speculative.

“I know he’s been through a lot,” Steve adds, voice low.  “Trust me, I know.”

Becca’s expression softens with that, and she nods.  “Alright, then,” she says.  She reaches up to pat him on the shoulder, and then says, “I thought something had happened.  He hasn’t wanted to talk to me about anything.  I mean, I knew there was someone, his little Sunday afternoon dates and all.”

Steve almost drops everything in his shock.  Little Sunday afternoon dates?  Jesus Christ…  “No, no, no.  It’s not like that,” he tries.

“It’s alright,” Becca tells him, voice quiet.  “Whatever it is, it’s been making him happy.  And like I said, he deserves to be happy, he deserves to have a little fun.  But it still stands, if you hurt him…”

“Rebecca!” Bucky interrupts, tone stern but not mean.  He’s put his supplies away and changed, traded his business casual wear for a pair of worn jeans and a black tee-shirt.  His prosthesis is gone, unfastened and removed while changing, and the sleeve of the shirt lays soft and free over his shoulder stump. 

“We were just talking,” Becca says, looking back at her brother. 

While Steve assures, “It’s fine, Bucky.  Just talking.”

Bucky frowns, clearly dubious, before brushing past them to pick up his pizza and beer again.  Steve marvels over how easily he manages with just the one hand, how he tucks the beer bottle between his arm and chest in order to carry his paper plate.  Steve wants to reach out and help, but the other man maneuvers with such effortless grace, Steve feels wrong interfering. 

Bucky’s worked hard to reclaim this part of himself, this independence, and Steve recognizes the value of that.

The three of them settle in on the couch, Bucky in the middle with his sister on his right and Steve on his left.  Bucky tenses for the briefest of moments when Steve sits down, before he relaxes with a soft sigh.  Still, Steve catches it, and so he murmurs, “You okay?”

“Yeah.”  Bucky glances his way, and gives him a timid smile.  “Just, you know, weak side.”

“Oh,” Steve says.  “I can move.”

“No,” Bucky says, shaking his head.  “No, don’t move.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, nodding.  “Then I’ve got your, uh, got your nine, yeah?”

“Okay,” Bucky answers, grinning sweetly.  He then proceeds to fold up his first slice of pizza and stuff half of it in his mouth.  Like a true fucking New Yorker.

Becca doesn’t comment on their small exchange, but Steve notices her smirking as she flips through the TV channels.  She settles on sitcom reruns before digging in herself, and they all fall quiet.  Though it’s oddly comfortable, all things considered.  The TV plays through the silence. 

Eventually, Becca speaks up.  “So, how long have you been seeing each other?”

Steve stares down at his pizza, cheeks burning.  Luckily, Bucky doesn’t falter.  “A while,” he answers, easy.

Becca raises her brows.  “A while?  And I’m just now seeing him?”

Bucky just shrugs.  Steve offers, “I didn’t really feel comfortable meeting the family.”

“I’m just his sister,” Becca says, leaning over Bucky to meet Steve’s eyes.  “And we’re more best friends than family…”

Bucky laughs, looking over at her.  “What does than even mean?”

“What do you think it means?” she counters, bumping shoulders with Bucky.  Then, to Steve, “He’s my best bud.  Just so happens he’s also my brother.”

Steve smiles, while Bucky loops his arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his side.  She huffs and tries to squirm away, but Bucky just squeezes her tighter, grinning mischievously at Steve all the while. 

“Brat,” Becca snaps as she manages to wriggle away from Bucky.  “You are the worst.  Gonna squish me.”

Bucky shakes his head and affectionately rakes his hand through her hair.  “Wasn’t trying to keep things from you,” he tells her eventually, before glancing over at Steve.  “Me and Steve, we just weren’t really at that point yet.  And I thought me and you kinda had an unspoken agreement, you know?  About bringing guys home.”

Steve raises his brows, but before he can ask any questions, ask if he’s making her uncomfortable, Becca is holding her finger up at Bucky and shaking her head.  “No, no, no; there was no agreement. _I_ stopped bringing my dates back here because you were frigging insufferable,” she says.  She peers around Bucky to talk to Steve again, “You shoulda seen him, the last guy I brought here?  Bucky knew I was coming home, I _told_ him, and I get home with Aaron, this cute kid from my research group…”

“He was _not_ cute,” Bucky protests.  “He was greasy.”

Becca presses on, ignoring Bucky.  “…and so we come in the door, and Buck’s in the kitchen making a sandwich with his pistol tucked in the back of his jeans.  Like he’s waiting for a frigging intruder.  Plus, he’d put his sniper rifle back on the rack—”  Becca gestures over across the room, where there is an empty gun rack mounted against the wall.  Around it are a multitude of awards, some of which Steve doesn’t recognize, but he recognizes two purples hearts, a silver star, and a POW medal.  There are also several SHIELD Marksman awards. 

It all makes Steve smile—this exquisite man, so strong and brave and talented.  Steve’s glad he’s secure enough to display the honors he’s so rightfully earned, even if Bucky admits to still struggling with his past. 

And the story Becca is telling?  Oh, Steve can just imagine…  “I bet you scared that poor kid to death,” he comments, and Bucky grins at him.

“Little boy was about to piss himself,” Bucky says, looking wholly pleased.

“Yeah, and you’re just as happy about it now as you were then,” Becca says, scowling at them both.  “You know, I still had to work with him for the rest of the semester.  He’s in the lab everyday asking me if everything is okay, obviously thinking I live with a madman.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, but he’s grinning and chuckling.  He doesn’t sound very sincere.

And just like that, with Becca’s silly little story, the ice is broken.  They fall into easy conversation, talking about their work and Becca’s classes, the food and what’s on TV, old movies and music.  Steve’s quietly amazed at how well he’s getting along with not only Bucky but Becca, too.  He feels like…

He feels like he’s been wandering these past several years, but now he’s finally found _home_.

After they finish eating, Steve tries to help put up the leftovers, but he’s shooed out of the kitchen by Becca and Bucky both.  He ends up wandering across their living room, looking around at the pieces of the siblings’ lives.  There are a few small photos in frames set on the entertainment center around the television. 

There’s a picture of Becca at her graduation surrounded by the family; and it must be her college graduation, the completion of her bachelor’s, Steve realizes.  Bucky’s there near the back, pressed up next to an older woman who must be their mom.  His arm is gone, and while he’s not emaciated like Steve had found him in that bunker, he’s still too thin and gaunt. 

He looks a little haunted, and a lot nervous.  But his mom’s got her arm around his shoulders, her other arm dragging Becca in close.  Their other sister is holding a baby in her arms, her husband squeezed in by her side.  Everyone is smiling wide—even Bucky, though his smile is a bit tight, a bit stressed.

“God, I was so proud of her,” Bucky murmurs, leaning up against Steve’s back and snaking his arm around his waist.  Steve hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t heard the man come up behind him.  He starts a little at the surprise, but then relaxes as Bucky presses a gentle kiss to the back of Steve’s neck.

“It’s a good picture,” Steve tells him, truthful. 

“I was still… not right,” Bucky says.  “I’d just gotten out of the institution.  Mom didn’t think I should go, but I wanted to see Becca walk.  That’s such a big deal, you know?  I couldn’t miss it.”

Steve nods, covering Bucky’s hand with his own.  He glances over to the kitchen, where Becca is still puttering around and pretending to ignore them.  It makes Steve smile.

“I about had three panic attacks that day.  Had to sit in the bathroom for, like, thirty minutes after the ceremony just to get it together,” Bucky says with a self-deprecating laugh.  “But it was so worth it.”

Steve squeezes his hand, smiling.  “You look like your ma,” he comments, because Bucky truly does.  The dark hair, the blue eyes, same skin tone; same shape to his eyes, his mouth, his nose, the same plump lips.  He’s just masculine where she is feminine; tall and broad, while she is short and curvy. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bucky says, laying his head against Steve’s shoulder. 

“Yes, do,” Steve says, chuckling.  Silence settles between them as Steve continues to look over the various photographs. 

There’s a recent photo of Bucky and Becca pushed up to the front.  They’re with few people Steve doesn’t recognize, friends or coworkers maybe.  Bucky’s shooting the camera that sweet little smile.  His long hair’s pulled back off his face.  He’s so beautiful, it hurts.

“It’s getting late,” Steve says.  Even though it’s not.  It’s only half-past eight.  He knows this, and he’s sure Bucky knows this.  Still…  “I should be thinking of getting home… probably.  I’ll get an Uber.”

Bucky squeezes him around the middle, and murmurs, “You don’t have to.  I was kinda hoping you might stay.”

His voice is soft, warm, and husky, and Steve’s stomach does a little flip at the implication.  “Yeah?” he asks quietly, sneaking a glance back to where Becca is washing her hands in the kitchen sink.  “Becca won’t mind?  I don’t want to…”

“Alright, guys, go on,” Becca interrupts, drying her hands on a handtowel.  “Go talk or canoodle or…  Do whatever you do when you’re by yourselves.”

“I think you know what we do,” Bucky tells her, smart-aleck.  Steve can feel himself blushing scarlet.

“Yeah, and I’ve got headphones,” she says, motioning to her laptop as she wanders back into the living room.  “And studying to do before bed.  So go on.”

Steve laughs, and he feels Bucky’s lips press one last time against the side of his neck before the man pulls away.  “Come on,” Bucky says, gesturing.  “My room’s this way.”

Steve nods, and follows.

~*~

Steve ends up on Bucky’s bed, stripped down to his undies.  He’s curled up against Bucky, around Bucky, into Bucky; their lips pressed together, caressing, tongues meeting, breaths mingling.  Steve’s heart is pounding, his skin on fire everywhere Bucky’s hand touches…

And oh, Bucky is touching him; his nails lightly scratching his scalp, fingertips trailing up and down his arms, a broad palm stroking his back.  Steve’s hard and rubbing absently against Bucky’s hip, but for the moment he’s content to just kiss.  He’s been hard since they climbed into bed—the bed that Bucky sleeps in, with such soft sheets, that smells like Bucky.  Like men’s soap, and clean sweat, and subtle musk. 

Bucky’s stripped down to his black briefs and his t-shirt, and his body’s so warm, so alive.  Steve wishes he’d take his shirt off, too, but he doesn’t push it.  Steve can feel the disfigurement when he strokes a hand over the shirt.  His left shoulder is bumpy and uneven, clearly extensively scarred, the flesh dented underneath where his armpit should be. 

Bucky moans into the kiss, before pulling away to murmur, “Baby, your lips are so sweet.”

All Steve can do is whine in reply, raking his hands through Bucky’s hair to push it out of his face.  He’s so devastatingly beautiful in that moment, all awash with arousal, his pupils blown and his cheeks flushed.  Steve smoothes his thumbs across Bucky’s brows, then down his temples and across his cheeks.  “I want you,” Steve tells him.  “So bad…”

Bucky pushes Steve over onto his back with a grunt, before clumsily sliding down his body to settle between Steve’s legs.  He rests his bad side against Steve’s thigh, effectively freeing up his hand to play with the waistband of Steve’s underwear.  Steve takes a deep breath, then goes back to petting Bucky’s hair. 

Bucky’s hair: as silky soft as Steve has been imagining.

“Is this alright?” Bucky asks, quiet and gentle, meeting Steve’s eyes.

Steve smiles down at him and nods.  “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says. 

“Mmm,” Bucky groans quietly, nuzzling into the crease of Steve’s hip and thigh.  “You should know something, babydoll—you’re in my bed, I’ve already got what I want.”

Steve doesn’t know how to reply to that, so he just smiles tenderly as Bucky teases at Steve’s underwear. 

“Actually, what I meant was,” Bucky begins.  “I’m not putting too much weight on you, am I?”

“What?” Steve asks, before realizing Bucky _is_ putting his weight on Steve’s right thigh.  It’s not uncomfortable, though.  It’s warm, grounding, forcing Steve to spread his legs a bit.  And the fact that he already trusts enough to rest his vulnerable side against Steve’s body…  “Oh, sweetie, you’re fine.  You do whatever you need to do.”

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Bucky continues, running his hand up Steve’s belly.  “I remember you said about your hips, from the crash.”

And God, Steve shouldn’t be so touched that the man remembers that, something from discussions they’d had separated by a piece of wood.  But he is.  It’s virtually an invisible injury; only a few small surgical scars on his lower back, along with some joint pain and stiffness.  But for the most part he gets around fine, does all the things he used to do, works construction for fuck’s sake…

Yet Bucky’s worried.

“You’re not hurting me.  I mean, I get a little stiff sometimes,” Steve says, having to pause to chuckle at the double entendre.  Bucky’s eyes flick down to Steve’s covered erection, a crooked grin on his pretty face.  Steve continues, “I mean, I don’t think I’ll be able to get my feet up over my head anymore, but other than that…”

“Oh dear Lord, I’m too old to get my feet over my head anymore.  It’s more trouble than it’s worth,” Bucky says with a laugh.  Steve smiles, but before he can reply, Bucky dips his head and mouths along the line of Steve’s clothed cock.

“Oh, Buck…” Steve breathes out, while Bucky eases his underwear down enough to free Steve’s cock.  It bobs out, slapping wet against his pelvis and leaving a smear of precum against the skin.  Bucky sighs, the sound quiet and aroused, before wrapping a hand around the shaft. 

“Jesus, lookit you,” Bucky murmurs, pleased.  “Better than I ever imagined.”

“You imagined it a lot?” Steve asks.

“You told me you were touching yourself while sucking me off.  It couldn’t _not_ imagine it,” Bucky says, voice gone a little rough, a little husky.  He pauses to lick a stripe up the underside of Steve’s cock, making it twitch.  Then, his tone affectionate and warm, “I guess I didn’t really need to be nervous about being uncircumcised, huh?”

Steve grins, reaching down to cradle Bucky’s cheek in his hand, and murmurs, “No.  ‘Course not…”  He trails off, sighing as Bucky begins to fist him.  His foreskin sliding exquisitely along his cockhead.  He swallows around the pleasure, and adds, “It’s kinda the way we’re made.  And sweetheart, somebody made you beautiful.”

Bucky blinks up at him, eyes becoming suspiciously watery, before he drops his head to suck wet kisses along Steve’s shaft.  Steve sighs, letting his head drop back into the pillows and closing his eyes.  He pets Bucky’s head with one hand, fingers gently raking through his hair, while the other massages his shoulder. 

Eventually, Bucky moves to kiss Steve’s hipbone, then says…

“I wanna suck you real bad.”  He pauses to stare up at Steve, while Steve nods desperately.  Bucky’s eyes are still strangely watery.  “But,” Bucky continues, “I can’t do this if you’re going to go back and keep doing what you do.”

“Huh?” Steve asks, confused, too distracted by Bucky’s hand and his pretty mouth. 

“I can’t…  If you’re going to go back tomorrow afternoon and suck all those other guys, I can’t…”  Bucky trails off, hand resting on Steve’s hip.  “I don’t share, Steve.  I’m a one-dick-man.”

Steve grins at the wording, and reaches down to stroke Bucky’s cheek.  The man’s stubble prickles against his fingers.  “You gonna let me have this, instead?” Steve asks.  “Gonna come to bed with me?  Gonna let me suck your gorgeous cock again sometimes?”

“ _Let_ you?  _Sometimes_?” Bucky asks, grinning crooked.  “Baby, I’ll wear you out.”

“Mmm, yeah?” Steve says.  “Then I don’t need anyone else.  Don’t _want_ anyone else.”

Bucky nods, apparently satisfied by that answer.  He fondles Steve’s balls, gives them a little squeeze, then says quite calmly, “And just so you know, I get why you did what you did.  I understand why you didn’t tell me.  But if you lie to me again?  I’ll rip your damn balls off.”

Steve splutters for a reply, but doesn’t manage to come up with one before Bucky takes Steve firmly in hand, licks his lips, and goes down.

Steve hasn’t had anyone else’s mouth on him in… he hasn’t really been keeping score.  It’s been years.  There were a few one-night flings after he and Peggy split, but then he resorted to the gloryhole.  It was easy and anonymous.  No strings and no questions asked, just like Bucky had said. 

But Steve has forgotten this.  The way it feels to _be_ with someone: to lie in bed and look another person in the eye and get hit with that deep arousal.  So deep as to not be strictly physical.  It’s an emotional sort of urging, something clutching at his chest, dragging him down and down.

Bucky’s lips feel as plush around his cock as they did when they kissed, and the cavern of his mouth is so warm, so wet.  He’s sloppy about it, obviously out of practice, drooling freely down Steve’s shaft.  But he’s as enthusiastic as he is messy, moaning around Steve’s dick while he grinds his hips into the mattress. 

“God, yes,” Steve moans, stroking a hand through Bucky’s hair.  Bucky’s eyes keep fluttering shut in pleasure, before he snaps them back up to meet Steve’s adoring gaze.  “Sweetheart, that’s so good,” Steve continues.  “You feel amazing.”

Bucky hums around his cock, then tries to take him all the way down.  But he gags when Steve’s cock hits the back of his throat and pulls off coughing.  Steve smooths Bucky’s hair back, quietly shushing him, even while Bucky mutters, “Sorry…  It’s been a while.”

“No, you’re so good.  So damn good,” Steve answers, gently pulling at his hair.  “Come up here.”

Bucky licks Steve’s cock one last time before crawling up the bed to lie next to him.  Steve leans in to capture his mouth, kissing him deep, tasting his own bitter precum on Bucky’s tongue.  Bucky kisses back, eager, and goes easily when Steve pushes him over onto his back. 

“Where’d you put that little bag?” Steve asks, glancing around as he pulls his underwear fully off.  Bucky gestures to his dresser, just as Steve spots it.  He hops off the bed, grabbing the supplies and climbing back in.  Bucky’s kicking out of his own underwear as Steve rejoins him, and Steve gets a little preoccupied by that big, gorgeous cock on display.  Jesus, Steve is going to ride him into the ground tonight…

Bucky grins up at him when Steve straddles his waist.  He looks a little nervous, and suddenly shy considering where his mouth has just been.  Steve leans down to kiss him again, and feels Bucky’s hand rest on his thigh. 

“So sexy,” Steve says against Bucky’s lips.  “Sweetie, I want you inside me.  I wanna sit on your pretty cock.  Can I do that, is that alright?”

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky curses, fingers digging into his thigh.  “Yeah, babydoll.  You ride me good.  Ride me real good.”

Steve leans down to kiss him again, before he pulls the condoms and lube out of the bag.  Steve smiles; Bucky’s stuck with simple but pleasurable.  Ultra-thin condoms, and Astroglide gel.  Steve pops the cap on the gel and slicks up his fingers.

“I didn’t know what you’d prefer,” Bucky rambles, hand softening its grip on Steve’s thigh.  He begins to caress soothingly while Steve twists to get his fingers between his legs, to prep himself.  He continues to rattle on, “I didn’t have anything here, just lotion.  I mean, you can get tested eventually—you’re the only person I’ve been with recently, so as long as you’re clean, we know I am too.  And we can get whatever kind of lube you prefer later.  If you’d rather have silicone-based, or warming or something…”

“Shh…” Steve shushes, leaning down again to kiss.  Bucky pushes up to meet him, going quiet as Steve intended.  He stays quiet even when Steve pulls away…

Quiet, save for a couple of ‘ _yeah baby_ ’s and ‘ _just like that_ ’s.  And a soft, sweet, caring: “Take your time, babydoll.  Get yourself good and ready.  I want you comfortable.”

Steve reaches for another kiss after he’s finished prepping.  He’s objectively aware that Bucky’s bigger than both his vibrating plug and his dildo; and even though he’s spent plenty of time prepping, this still make take some getting used to.  But God, he wants.  He fucking _wants_.

Bucky rips into the package of condoms, fishes one out, then tears open the foil wrapper with his teeth.  It only then, with the opened prophylactic in his hand, that he seems to realize the problem: he needs two hands to get it on.  Steve doesn’t say anything, just takes it from him and handles things.  Makes sure Bucky’s foreskin is retracted before he pinches the condom tip and rolls the latex down. 

Steve holds the condom base while Bucky slicks himself up and rubs his foreskin down through the condom.  But then Bucky sneaks his slick hand between Steve’s legs, back behind his balls, and wipes the leftover lube on Steve’s hole.  Steve gasps despite himself, canting his hips back onto Bucky’s hand and inadvertently pressing one of Bucky’s fingers up into himself.  Steve cries out at the feeling, both physical and emotional, before biting his lip.  Bucky’s sister…

Bucky doesn’t shush him, though, only presses his finger in deeper for a moment.  Then he pulls his hand back and grabs Steve by the hip, his palm slick and dirty.  “Come on,” he murmurs to Steve, pulling at him gently.  “Come on, baby.  Take what you want.”

Steve moans quietly, splaying one hand across Bucky’s chest and reaching the other underneath himself for Bucky’s cock.  Bucky’s shirt is sticking to his skin with sweat, wet against Steve’s hand.  Like Bucky’s cock is wet and slick between Steve’s legs.  The big, blunt head slips up the crack of Steve’s ass the first time he tries to push down onto it, leaving a smear of lube in its wake.  The second try, though, and Steve feels that familiar burn as he opens up.

Bucky chokes on a breath, while Steve grits his teeth and breathes through his nose.  Bucky’s fingers tighten on Steve’s thigh for a second, before they release and ease down Steve’s skin in a gentle, soothing touch.  The flared head pushes past Steve’s rim, and Steve feels like the air is driven from his lungs. 

“Shh, baby,” Bucky coos to him, still stroking his thigh.  “Just go nice and slow, take your time.  You’re  doing so good.  So good, baby…”

“Goddamn, you’re big,” Steve breathes, because _fuck_ , he is.  Not that Steve’s had a lot of experience with anal.  There was a sweet brown-haired, blue-eyed boy in high school, (Steve apparently has a type), his first experimental encounter bottoming.  And then there was the guy he’d fooled around with in the army.

Then there was Peggy.  She wasn’t particularly into anal play, which was fine.  The sex had been great regardless.  But then that relationship had fallen by the wayside, and then there was the gloryhole, and now?

Now he’s in bed with Bucky.

Of course, there’s his toys and his own fingers, but…

“You’re bigger than my toys,” Steve murmurs, staring down at Bucky.  He rocks his hips slowly, bearing down to let Bucky in a little deeper, then a little deeper. 

“Mmm, baby,” Bucky moans.  “You play with toys when you’re by yourself?”

Steve nods, grunting in exertion.  He lets go of Bucky’s cock once he’s seated well enough, tracing a finger around his rim instead, feeling where he’s stretched wide around Bucky’s thick girth.  His eyelids flutter shut for a moment at the burn and stretch—it feels so good, he feels stuffed so full…

“What kinda toys you play with?” Bucky asks, hand still stroking Steve’s thigh.

“I have a dildo,” Steve tells him.  He feels like he’s panting for breath.  “And a plug.  A vibrating plug.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says.  “One day, I’m gonna suck you off with that plug up your ass.”

“Oh, God,” Steve moans, unsure whether he’s vocalizing because of what Bucky said or because he’s finally fully seated.  He can feels Bucky’s balls against his ass, Bucky’s hips against the inside of his thighs.  He braces his hands against Bucky’s chest, then makes one slow grind with his hips, feels the way Bucky’s cock is seated inside him, the way it moves inside him, the way it pulses and twitches inside him.

Bucky groans, his hand grappling at Steve’s thigh up to his hip, then finally grabbing at Steve’s left asscheek.  He squeezes the flesh, firm but not rough, and Steve loves it.  Loves that big, warm hand on his skin, spreading his cheeks apart a bit, just enough for Steve to feel the stretch on his rim. 

Steve stares down at Bucky while he moves, while he rolls his hips, grinds and gyrates.  Bucky’s cock is curved upward a bit, just enough to be pressing against his insides just right.  Every movement massages his prostate, makes him gasp and grunt, makes his cock twitch and leak precum over Bucky’s t-shirt.

And this… the look on Bucky’s face.  Eyes hazy, lips parted, cheeks flushed, hair mussed up and fanned out behind him on the pillow.  It’s the thing Steve’s been having to imagine from behind a piece of plywood.  That slack-jawed expression of pleasure.  And oh, it’s better than anything Steve ever dreamed of.

He repositions himself enough to lean down; he scoots his knees up high against Bucky’s ribs and cants his hips back.  He takes Bucky’s cheeks in his palms and kisses the sweet sounds that are falling from his lips.  Bucky moans into the kiss, his hand sliding through sweat from Steve’s ass to cradle his lower back.

Then, Bucky bends his knees, braces his feet against the mattress, and starts thrusting to meet the grind of Steve’s hips.  He moves easy, licks into Steve’s mouth, kisses deep to the rhythm of their lovemaking.

Because that’s what this is…  Lovemaking.  Steve’s never been one to make a distinction before now.  Before this very moment.  Sex is sex is sex.  Call it whatever you will.  Except that he’s realizing that was only because he didn’t know. 

He’s never made love before now, before this fellow ex-soldier stumbled into his life.  This man who he’s only had one kind-of dinner date with, and whose cock he anonymously sucked for a good four months.  This man who’s sat next to him through two years of group therapy.  This man who’d been so sick and scared, who’d been dying under Steve’s hands—but who is alive and well now.  Who is so warm and sweet and sexy, so gentle and passionate and is _making love to Steve_ …

“I’m gonna—," Bucky starts, before he takes in that sharp breath, that telltale frantic gasp for air.  Except Steve has beat him to it; that hot, building pressure in his belly suddenly unfurls and surges forth in agonizing pleasure.  He moans against Bucky’s lips, hands still grasping the man’s cheeks, still trying to kiss even in the midst of his orgasm. 

Though the kiss is more of a mashing of tongues and lips than anything else.  Bucky’s as lost to his pleasure as Steve, his eyes scrunched closed while his mouth hangs open.  Steve can feel his cock pulsing inside, the rhythmic throbbing of orgasm, enhancing Steve’s own pleasure.  And he can feel Bucky’s thighs spasm underneath him, and his belly tense while Steve spills himself onto Bucky’s t-shirt. 

It’s quiet afterward.  At least, in a strange, metaphysical way.  Bucky’s heaving for breath like he’s just run a marathon, and Steve can feel himself trembling.  But Steve feels so loose, fulfilled, _at home_.  He leans his forehead against Bucky’s, while Bucky hugs him tighter.

“You okay, baby?” Bucky asks him after a few moments have passed in otherwise silence.  He strokes a gentle hand down Steve’s back.  “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve answers, ducking his head so they are cheek to cheek instead.  “I’m amazing.  Just… came real hard.  Still kinda spacey.”

“Mmm,” Bucky murmurs, turning his head to kiss Steve’s temple.  “Me too.”

“You always come hard,” Steve tells him, eyes sliding shut.  “Come like a damn freight train.”

“No,” Bucky argues.  “You _make_ me come hard.  You.”

Steve feels himself blush.  Silly, considering their position.  “You hold your breath when you come,” he says, not quite sure why it matters at that particular moment.

“Huh?” Bucky replies, turning his head again to kiss Steve’s cheek.

“You hold your breath,” Steve repeats.

“Are you saying I should try to breathe?” Bucky asks.  “’Cause I gotta tell you—I’m kinda out of it while I’m, you know…”

“While you’re… _you know_?” Steve parrots.  He leans away to looks down at Bucky, grinning.  The man’s cock is softening inside him, and Steve needs to get off of him, let him dispose the condom.  But…  “You still shy?  You realized you just _you know_ ’d in my ass.”

“And you’re still blushing like a virgin,” Bucky counters, smiling dopey back up at Steve.  Then, with a gentle pat to Steve’s thigh.  “Come on, up you go.”

And it’s strangely easy and comfortable for it to be after their first time.  Or at least, kind of their first time—and maybe that why it’s so easy.  Steve gets a little flustered over the sloppy sound of Bucky pulling out, and the way lube immediately leaks messy from his hole, dripping down onto Bucky’s pelvis and shirt.  He quickly snatches up the nearest pair of discarded underwear to press between his asscheeks, but Bucky’s grabbing the hem of his own t-shirt at the same time, stretching it up to wipe the insides of Steve’s thighs. 

“S’okay,” Bucky tells him, gentle.  His voice has a strange quality to it—it’s beyond simple understanding.  It’s the tone of a man who wishes the same words had been said to him.  “Don’t gotta be embarrassed.”

Steve nods, kisses him once, then stands in as his second hand so he can remove the condom.  When Bucky starts to tie it off with the help of his teeth, Steve snatches it away from him.  “That kind of defeats the purpose,” he says.  Then, “You got a trash bin?  And somewhere I can clean up real quick?”

Bucky points to a door slightly ajar across the room.  “Bathroom,” he says.  “All yours.  Mi casa es su casa.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, smiling, and lets himself inside.

It’s obviously Bucky’s personal bathroom, clean and tidy, furnished in the same warm tones as his bedroom.  And there are all the little pieces of Bucky dotting the counter.  His toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, his electric beard trimmer, hand and face lotion…

There’re a few prescription pill bottles lined up neatly.  Steve shouldn’t look, he knows, but he glances at them after tossing the condom in the trash.  There’s something for pain, a narcotic, that doesn’t look like it’s even been touched.  There’s also an anti-anxiety med, the bottle mostly full even though it was filled months ago—it seems like Bucky must only take it as a last resort.  And finally, an antidepressant, maybe a quarter of the bottle left.

Steve doesn’t know a lot about health and medicine, only what he’s absorbed by proxy from his own experiences, but he knows that some antidepressants can cause issues with libido, can cause ED.  He wonders if Bucky knows this, and if he’s talked about this with his doctor.  Considering how ashamed Bucky is over the subject, something tells Steve that it probably hasn’t come up. 

Maybe Steve will talk to Bucky about it.  Not now, not tonight.  But some other time.  Later.  If Steve is still around later…

Steve’s already in the shower when he hears Bucky knock on the bathroom doorframe.  “Do you mind if I pop in?  Brush my teeth, get cleaned up?” Bucky asks, once Steve pops his head out from around the shower curtain.

“’Course I don’t mind,” Steve says.  Bucky grins back at him before wandering over to the sink.  The man’s pulled his briefs back on and is still wearing his shirt, now stained with sweat and semen.  Steve watches him fiddle with the hem of his shirt, obviously weighing his options.

“Here, let me get a toothbrush for you,” Bucky says, abandoning his shirt in order to reach into one of the bathroom drawers.

“Thanks,” Steve says.  Then, once Bucky’s dug an unopened toothbrush out of the drawer, “You wanna join me?  Clean up?”

Bucky chuckles, self-deprecating.  “It’s not going to happen again this soon,” he says, but Steve’s already shaking his head.

“ _Clean up_ ,” Steve says.  “I know you were sweating.  I mean, I’m almost done, if you’d rather wait.”

Steve pulls the shower curtain fully closed with that, giving Bucky the chance to make his own choice.  There’s a long pause, no sound in the bathroom save for the cascade from the shower.  Then, there’s the rustle of clothing, and the shower curtain being pulled back, and a warm presence behind him.

Bucky is staring like a deer in headlights when Steve turns around to face him.  And yes, he’s completely nude, the marred shoulder out on full display.  But what catches Steve attention first is the flash of neon green in his hair, on the top of his head.  It’s clip to keep the flyaway strands out of his face, from getting wet. 

Steve reaches out to touch it, unable to keep the grin off his face.  “Quite the fashion statement,” he comments.

Bucky blinks, hand going to the top of his head, before the frightened look on his face melts into a grin.  “I kinda think so,” he teases back.  Then, softer, “I wasn’t even thinking about my dumb hair clip.”

“It’s cute,” Steve tells him with a smile.  He steps closer, pulling Bucky into his arms.  “ _You’re_ cute.”

Bucky grunts at him, while Steve rubs his lower back.  The other man is so strong and solid against him.  He has the same rounded pecs that Steve does, not quite as pronounced but still wonderfully firm.  Steve finds he likes this, being pressed chest to chest, skin to skin. 

In fact, Steve likes it so much that he moves even closer, presses in that extra half-inch.  Their toes touch, Bucky’s thick thighs rub against him, and Bucky’s soft cock ends up nestled against Steve’s own. 

And the other man’s shoulder…  Steve can feel it.  He can feel it against his own shoulder, and he can feel the beginnings of scarring as he rubs his hands up Bucky’s back.  Bucky tenses against him, so Steve murmurs, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Steve…” Bucky murmurs, dropping his head to Steve’s shoulder.

“You are,” Steve insists.  “Absolutely gorgeous.  Sexiest man I ever met.”

He lets his hand trail up over Bucky’s shoulder—the bad one, hard and uneven under Steve’s hand.  He’s prepared to let Bucky step away should the man try, but Bucky doesn’t.  He just breathes out heavy against the side of Steve’s neck.

“Am I hurting you?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky answers.  “It always hurts.”

Steve’s heart breaks a little at that, and he dips his head to lay a kiss against the marred skin. 

“It’s mostly all tissue grafts.  And some metal plates underneath,” Bucky tells him.  “S’why it feels like that.”

Steve nods.  The man sounds uncomfortable still, self-conscious, so Steve repeats his words from earlier, “Don’t gotta be embarrassed.”  Then, “You know, I saw you.  Saw it when it was bad.  You still had both your arms when I found you in that bunker.”

Bucky huffs out a hard breath.  “How—how bad was it?” he asks, sounding as though he’s dreading the answer.

“You don’t know?” Steve says.

“I—they took pictures.  As evidence.  But I haven’t looked at them,” Bucky says.  “I only looked at the pictures taken after the surgery…”

Steve shakes his head.  “I don’t want to say something that’s going to…  Going to upset you.”

“Steve…” Bucky says.  For the first time Steve’s known him, he sounds truly irritated.  He hadn’t even sounded like this when he’d pulled the plywood away to reveal Steve behind the gloryhole—that had been more shocked and bewildered than anything else.  Bucky finishes, “I’m not a damn child.  I can…”

“It was all dead,” Steve relents.  “When I grabbed you to restrain you, your arm just…  It caved under my hand.  And when we had to split your shirt to use the AED, you could smell it.  I’m sure you know what I’m talking about—you worked in the field for long enough.  That rot smell.”

Bucky nods, his face still hidden against Steve’s shoulder.  There’s a long silence, so long that Steve almost thinks the conversation is over.  He’s about to turn around to finish washing, when Bucky says quietly, “I’d gotten injured in the initial skirmish when they took me.  Nothing serious, just a shot to the forearm.  They took the bullet out and bandaged it, but it got infected.  Bad.  And I got real sick…”

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “You were real sick.”

“I kept telling them, while I was lucid enough to know, that it was infected.  But they didn’t seem to care.  Just kept torturing me, trying to get information,” Bucky continues.  His breath hitches suddenly, and Steve squeezes him close at the noise.  Bucky hugs him closer in turn, and murmurs, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart.  Don’t,” Steve says.

Another shaky breath, and Bucky says, “I eventually figured out I wasn’t meant to survive.  So it didn’t matter whether they treated the wound.  They were going to keep at it until I gave in, or until I died.”  He swallows hard, and adds, “I dunno why they stopped while I was still alive.  I don’t think I told them anything, but I wasn’t right in the head.  Been feverish for too long.  Maybe I did.”

Steve shakes his head.  “You were repeating your codename and unit when I found you,” he says.  “Like we’re trained to do.  So I don’t think… Really don’t think you said anything.  You were doing what you were supposed to do.”

There’s a heavy inhale and a shaky exhale.  Steve expects follow-up, but then Bucky lifts his head to look him in the eye, and asks, “Did you really perform CPR?  You personally?  Or…”

Steve’s already nodding his head before Bucky finishes the thought, and Bucky trails off.  “Yeah,” Steve says.  “Yeah, you flatlined in the jet.  I was still helping my medic to get you settled, so I just sort of…  Jumped in.”

Bucky kisses the curve of Steve’s neck, and then reaches behind himself to pull Steve’s hand from his back, to thread their fingers together.  “Thank you,” Bucky tells him.  “Thank you, Steve.  I—for a long time, I wished I’d died out there, but then, well, then I started realizing that life was still good in its own way.  And now look?  I’m in the shower with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met, after we just did the hanky-panky, and I have to say…”

And Steve can’t help himself.  He chuckles, and interrupts, “Did the hanky-panky?”

Bucky laughs, then leans in to lay a kiss on Steve’s lips.  “Yeah.  Hanky-panky,” he confirms.

Steve smiles, the other man’s laughter contagious.  He steals another few kisses, then prompts, “You have to say what?”

“I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long, long time.”

“Me, too, sweetheart.  Me, too.”


End file.
